View of the bridge over Lake Pontchartrain


Lessons from Waveland

The air was filled with drywall dust, and the trailer was resonating drum beats from classic rock blaring out of the radio. I lifted my heavy steel knife from the mud bucket and plastered the inside corner of newly- hung drywall with thick white mud. A big glob fell back down to the floor, and I hung my head in despair.

It was day two of our missions trip, and I was becoming increasing frustrated. There were just too many questions on my mind. Why were we put here, and not on a more interesting project? Why are we restoring a trailer that is so claustrophobic and so poorly constructed? Why isn’t the owner coming to visit us? And why weren’t we left instructions on what to do? Perhaps we were doing it all wrong. Perhaps we were doing things twice. This whole project seemed pointless to me, and I felt totally useless.

Our team of three had flown 3500 km to a point on the Gulf coast that was once a pristine cottage town. A place where the wealthy of New Orleans would spend their weekends to relax at their beachside mansions. Where there was a collective of artist studios and swanky restaurants. Where there was a vibrant shrimping and fishing community.

This solitude was rarely interrupted during its 300 year history. Sure, there were hurricanes. But none were as big as in the summer of 2005, when Hurricane Katrina hit. Bay St. Louis and Waveland were at the worst possible location, right on the westerly side of the eye wall where the winds were the fiercest. During the storm, the 30-foot storm surge literally erased these two towns. Hundreds of homes were forced off their foundations. The lucky homes that weren’t destroyed by the impact of the waves were irreversibly damaged by the flood waters. Whole swaths of vegetation were killed. Stories and memories that were built up over generations were lost forever.

We were now here, a year and a half later, witnessing a community that had just begun the process of healing. Familiar fast food restaurants and big box stores were popping up on I-90. New houses were being constructed, some on stilts. Contractors had put up signs at every intersection, hoping to draw business from hurricane victims.

Physically, most of the area was still heavily damaged. The coastline was still empty- its piers reduced to skeletons, its sandy beaches devoid of tourists. The only inhabitants on the beaches were crawfish several feet into the ground and evidenced only by curious dots in the sand.

And the social consequences were still being felt. Many families were still living in temporary white trailers, provided by the government. The governments handouts were running out, and many people had lost hope or a will to move forward.

We went back home that day having accomplished very little. We had realized that we had to correct some of the shoddy work that was done earlier. I brought my frustrations to dinner, and that night, we met two people that would change the direction of our missions trip.

Dick and Maggie were a retired couple from Wisconsin who were also here to drywall. They were actually the ones who had gave the church the kits needed to do the drywall work. They were both retired teachers who had a heart for the suffering. They extended a spirit of generosity and love to everyone they met.

During that dinner, we enthusiastically talked about some of the problems of the church’s efforts at reconstruction. We talked about Canadian culture, and about US politics. We learned about how the Casino might buy up the entire coastline and how hurricane victims have been unable to get money from their insurance companies. It was strange how easy it was to talk to them, and how interested they were in listening to us.

Dick came by our site the next day, in his tattered Oshkosh overalls, and taught us basic drywall techniques. Filling the gaps and joints required several coats of mud. One firm sweep of the drywall knife was all that was needed. By letting it dry, and then slowly building up the mud layer by layer over the course of several days, a smooth surface could be created. Drywalling requires much patience and work that may seem visibly fruitless allows the next step to become easier. So on that day, our aimless jabs turned into purposeful strokes. We became eager apprentices to an experienced master, who was willing to teach us everything he knew.

The story could have simply ended there, but God had something else in mind. The next day, I saw Maggie and Pastor Dave wrapped in an intense emotional conversation at the breakfast table. I thought that perhaps Maggie wanted to talk to the pastor about Jesus, but we later learned that it was more than that.

The night before, at Benigno’s restaurant, they had some conversations with some of the new students at the camp. What started off as an innocent spiritual conversation ended with Dick and Maggie leaving the restaurant in tears. There were some words uttered that night that caused so much pain that they decided to pack up early and leave Waveland.

So that morning, I was simply heartbroken. I was actually looking forward to learning more from Dick, and strengthening the relationship that we had with them, which was still very green at the time. I went over to the trailer that they were staying at. Their van was out front, with all the doors open- ready to receive their luggage. Inside, they happened to be talking to the pastor, faces red with tears, and I basically told them how sad I was that this happened, and that I was so grateful that I met them because I finally felt that I was given some direction.

Later that day, Dick unexpectedly came to our trailer. He said that they were able to sort things out, and that in fact my awkward words had come at the most appropriate time. He had been explaining to the pastor how they felt that the groups needed more direction, and here I was talking about Dick leading me along the right path!

The couple continued to bless us that week. They set us up an appointment to see a local historian- Charles Gray- who gave the most spirited history lesson I have ever heard. They also introduced us to Ruth- a ceramic artist, and Deborah- a jewelry designer who designed for Hollywood. In fact, that afternoon, we were lucky enough to go to visit Deborah’s Creole-styled cottage and help her with assembling the bed, and putting down plywood boards in the attic. She thanked us by giving us custom designed earrings for “the women in our lives.”

So, at the end of this trip, the big question is- what did I hear from God? I think He was telling me about what the kingdom of heaven is like. It’s alot like drywalling. It takes patience, and one might not see the results at first. In fact, there might be alot of heartache and pain. But layer by layer, the cracks and the deformations, the imperfections and the holes start becoming filled up. And the end result- after a whole week’s work- is a beautiful seamless creation.