Veteran's Day

Today is a day to celebrate our many amazing veterans, their wonderful service to our great country, and their incredible sacrifices. As a military brat though, I struggle with "Happy" Veteran's Day.  It actually makes me physically cringe.  I understand that most people revert to that term for lack of anything else to say, and because we, society, have been saying it this way for years.  But, as I said, it's something I really struggle with.

My house growing up, was anything but happy.  My father suffered hell, in part due to his years in Vietnam.  We know what to call it now--PTSD.  As a society, we are thankfully becoming kinder about it than we were back in the 80's and 90's.  Back then, he had to buck up and be a man, whatever that's supposed to mean.  My father was a suicidal, functional alcoholic who suffered from a great depression. Even when he was physically present, he was emotionally absent.  God only knew the battle going on in his head.  Our entire family suffered.  That makes him sound like some horrible, abusive person.  He wasn't.  He did his best.  He provided well for his family, but he was a broken man.  My mother frequently admonished me to not ask my father about his years in Vietnam. I have so many other memories from that particular area, but I would only be digressing.  He retired from the USMC when I was in my mid-teens, just shy of his 25 years, just before Desert Storm, and I remember my profound fear when they began recalling recent retirees for that 'skirmish'.  We were lucky, unlike so many of my friends, whose parents were either active duty, or more recently retired than my father.

It may not sound like it, but I really am proud of my father's service.  I'm grateful for our armed forces.  My father and I didn't see eye to eye on many things later on in life, but one thing he did teach me was respect for our military, and respect for office.  I have a profound respect and gratitude for our military.  It's possible that because of what my father went through, my respect and gratitude is even more profound.  Bird's eye view, and all.  It's something Shawn and I are passing on to our children.

For so many families today, there are wars still being fought here at home.  Veteran's Day is not always a happy reminder of service.  Our veterans struggle daily, hourly.  The suicide rate is astronomical.  The divorce rate is through the roof.  Families and lives are destroyed, even when our servicemen and women make it home.

For these reasons, and for many other reasons for so many families, I don't say "Happy Veteran's Day."  Instead, I say "Thank you so much for your service and sacrifice, my family and I are grateful."

*To the gentleman playing with Ezra in Walmart yesterday, who suddenly couldn't look me in the eyes when I thanked him for his service, "Thank you for your service, sir."
*To Noah's youth leader, our family friend and my fellow missions/disaster response team member, "Thank you for your service, sir."
*To my precious friend, who is retired USMC, "Thank you for your service, ma'am."
*To the USMC veteran whose home we had the privilege of working on in Texas: "Thank you for your service, sir."
*To the USN veteran I worked alongside in Texas: "Thank you for your service, sir."
*To our neighbor, "Thank you for your service, sir."
*To my many friends on Instagram, "Thank you for service, sirs and ma'ams."
*To our homeless veterans who deserve better: "Thank you for service."
*To our K9 veterans: "Thank you for your service," and belly rubs, and Kongs forever.

To all of you, thank you.  Your service and sacrifice, and that of your family, do not go unnoticed to this family.  YOU are not unnoticed to this family.  You are precious, and you count.  Your service counts.  "Thank you" will never be enough, but it is all we have.

Look for the Helpers

"Always look for the helpers.  There's always someone who is trying to help." 

--"Mr." Fred Rogers' Mom

I wrote most of this on the plane home from Texas as I tried to process everything.  Blessedly, we had a huge plane with very few passengers and I had an entire row to myself, so I could just let the tears flow privately.  I really still don't even know how to begin to process everything I saw and heard, and was privy to.  I don't know how much I want to share, and what I need to guard in my heart.  I do know this trip was different than Jamaica in that unlike in Jamaica, where we left the children the same as we found them, we left the homeowners in Texas better than we found them.  In that way, it's been easier to come home than it was coming home from Jamaica, a relief in so many ways.

My plan going down was to take tons of pictures, maybe post them to social media--"Hey!  Look what we're doing!  Look what's still going on down here!"  Once we landed and I saw the destruction and devastation still there, I couldn't.  It was like a punch to the gut.  It hits you--this is not trash, this is not debris.  This is what is left of peoples' lives. These are heirlooms, memories, photographs, family histories--all on the sides of the roads.  Even on the sides of the interstates where FEMA and the state leave it until they can burn it--BURN IT--just sitting there, where the homeowners have to look at it, their wrecked lives.  I could not take pictures of these piles, or the homes, or anything else.  These were not my stories to tell. Even going back and forth to our job sites, I felt like a looky-loo just looking at the piles, so I kept my head down.  I did stare my first day, just taking it all in, but felt awful for doing it.  It was like a train wreck, then you realize exactly what you're looking at.  

Just as with the pictures, I could tell you a few stories for the GASP affect, but I can't and I won't. I will share some stories with you, but most I will carry only in my heart. 

This was a very emotional week for me.  I've worked on several missions trips doing construction work.  This was my first deconstruction trip.  And when the homeowner is right there, it just makes things even more emotional.  You must remind yourself to mind your laughter and your words, to mind where you toss your empty water bottles and the debris as you dismantle their homes, to mind where you step, and how you carry what is left of their belongings, and where you put it as you work around it.  While we were working to build the homeowners up, we were also working to tear their homes down.  It was a horrible irony.

I'm grateful for the complete strangers who became immediate friends.  I will admit, my first day out when I was on my own away from my home team, I panicked a bit--but it's obvious God wants me out of my comfort zone.  I jumped in with both (left) feet, and found many others with my (lack of) skill level, but same willingness to learn.  I'm grateful to those who made it easy for me to learn, who took me under their wings and taught me alongside them (there aren't any 'little women' on these job sites--if you find the job, you do the work!).  There were those I found with similar senses of humor, who joked with me and caught on to my eagerness (but they wouldn't let me have power tools--not even a chainsaw--excuse me, especially a chainsaw!).  Humor was a huge part of decompression each evening when we returned to the church where we were staying.  The women's dorm was more like a women's retreat every night, and that morning worship--oh, that every morning should begin that way! YES LORD!  

Last week was amazing and truly awful at the same time.  It was amazing to be with so many wonderful people, volunteers and homeowners alike, and to know we were part of something worthy and good.  But awful for the reasons we had to be there, what we saw, and the stories we heard.  We should have all met under better circumstances, but we're grateful for all the people who volunteered and gave up so much time from their lives for others.  My heart is a little heavier, my prayers are bigger and more fervent, but as I said earlier, we did leave these homeowners better than we found them, and for that, I'm grateful.   

It was amazing because I had almost no pain or symptoms at all last week!  You have to remember, I have daily pain, and there are things like cleaning my house or going grocery shopping that can lay me out for days at a time. I can get winded just walking up my stairs, or getting my mail.  Last week was truly an example of "if God brings you to it, He will bring you through it."  It was incredible!  I met several others with autoimmune illnesses having similar experiences.  We just wanted to dance in the streets and shout from the rooftops--instead, we were pulling off rooftops.  It was awful because one of the homeowners we ministered to struggles with her health like I do, but so amazing that we were able to help her and pray with her as she accepted Christ into her heart ("again," she said.  I hugged her so hard as we both cried before our team left, both of us saying, "No tears!" I just wanted to hug it all out of her, just hold her until she didn't hurt anymore.  My prayer for her is that she knows how beautiful and worthy she is--that she is able to believe it.).  It's awful there are still people living in tent cities, others who have not returned to their homes at all, people who are storing what is left of their belongings under tarps after their homes have been torn down, people who are being taken advantage of by clean up crews and contractors.  Some homes have just been boarded up and/or abandoned completely just as they are because the homeowners cannot afford to start over.  I noticed many of the homes that have been boarded up are still being lived in.

Selfishly, one particular homeowner's home was a turning point for me.  She was an older woman, such a sweet, God-loving woman.  She kept saying, "I have plenty of questions, I don't have the answer, but I do know God is still good, and you are all proof of that!"  She sat outside with her daughter and they watched us, as they went through several boxes of what had survived the flood and the storm.  I felt despondent just watching her.  We completely gutted her home, and I learned I can do hard work.  I didn't have Shawn there to fall back on, and everyone else was doing hard work, so when I found the work, I had to do the work.  There were plywood walls that had to be pulled down, carpet had to be pulled up, some tight spaces the drywall had to be removed from, insulation pulled out, there were roaches and other bugs--I did it all.  It was good, hard work.  I will admit, it was cathartic. It felt good to swing that hammer.  At one point, as I was connecting with that drywall, I realized I was yelling at seizures and had tears down my face, but no one could hear me because of my mask and the noise from the machines.  Perfect.  I might need more construction work.  One morning, I found a shiny 2012 penny on her floor.  Just a penny.  I took it down to her, saying that I know Christians like us don't have much use for luck, but perhaps it will bring her some blessings as she starts over.  She became teary, and told me she had lost her husband's coin collection in the flooding, so yes, she could use that penny to start over.  Oh, my heart.  I spent some time cleaning up her yard, and I scrubbed her bathroom, top down, for her.  Everyone deserves a clean potty, even if they don't have walls.

In some areas the damage was almost tornadic in nature.  Trailers and RVs and buildings were twisted like tin cans, not just once, but several times.  On any given block, one or two homes would have to be completely demolished, but others right next to those only gutted.  So many families don't have flood insurance, others don't have any insurance at all.  FEMA will guarantee one family the full amount, but the next family won't qualify for anything, and at times, the reasoning seems random.  Many families suddenly find themselves living on a floodplain, and have to jack their homes up before they can even begin gutting or repairing.  Many of those same families are now required to carry flood insurance they currently can't afford, also before they can begin gutting and repairing, but it does not help them right now, of course.  At almost every turn, it seems as though the red tape is built to work against them.  

Learning just how much red tape is involved (*cough* corrupt) with the government and businesses during these times, how much these folks are bilked out of, and just all the overwhelming nonsense these sweet people have to wade through makes me glad I've chosen to volunteer with a nonprofit who doesn't charge them a penny.  Christ in Action goes in, removes everything, roof to floor, so the contractors have a clean slate to work with.  Many homeowners are saved an average of $10-$15000, often even more.  It's good stuff.

One afternoon I noticed some papers beginning to blow away from the 'trash' pile on the side of the road, so I went over and bagged them up.  I really tried to not look, they were someone else's private papers, but I saw they were children's school papers.  They were blowing out of a cardboard box that had been ruined in the flooding, and it looked as though the owner had dumped the box without going through it.  I came across a small bible, and pulled it out.  I took it to our homeowner, but she didn't recognize it.  My hope is to maybe find the original owner--I have two names in it, and a  year, so perhaps through social media, I can track the owner down.  It was given to "Teresa" on August 9, 1974 but Edith Tomblin (I think I have the last name correct).  On the front inside cover is a list of how to be saved, and several bible verses, written in a young girl's handwriting.  I would love to find the owner.

We had so many people thanking us.  It felt weird, but touched my heart just the same.  As dirty and gross and filthy as we were, these precious homeowners didn't hesitate to hug us to pieces.  I don't want to be thanked, I just want to do the work, and spread His word.  God gives me the chance to do this work--the people allow us into their homes.  They allow us into their personal tragedies.  We are the ones thanking them.  This work is a privilege.  

Texas, it was my pleasure to serve you.  THANK YOU for allowing me the honor.  Fellow Red Shirt helpers--until next time.