SEVERAL WEEKS FOLLOWING the devastating impact of Hurricane Katrina, a friend of mine traveled the Gulf Coast of Mississippi to survey the damage…
What he found was beyond anything he could have imagined. Entire neighborhoods no longer existed. Businesses had been destroyed. Countless lives had been lost. My friend described the scene as “apocalyptic.”
While driving through one particular subdivision on his way to church, my friend noticed the stacks of debris near the street in front of each house. The piles were enormous and included every household good imaginable, from clothes to appliances to boxes of personal items. But he could not help but notice how neat and organized the piles were compared to those on the other streets he had seen. This neighborhood street seemed out place, given the destruction and chaos that reigned everywhere else. This neighborhood had experienced the same calamity of water and wind, but their recovery was different.
As my friend looked closer at each pile, another fact stood out: On each pile was written the name of the family who lived in that particular house. At that moment, he saw a resident of the neighborhood dragging more debris to the street. My friend stopped and asked if he could help. The gentleman politely declined and turned back toward the house.
My friend stopped him and asked, “Sir, can I ask you a question?” “Yes, what is it?” the gentleman replied. My friend pointed to the piles of debris and said, “It’s about your debris piles. They seem organized and neat, and I can’t help but noticed that each pile has a name on it. Would you tell me about that?” The gentleman stood a moment looking at the piles. “We’ve always been a close neighborhood. Most of us have lived here for years–we’ve raised our children here, lived and died here…it’s been a good place.” The man paused a minute and then continued. “Notice came from the recovery folks that we needed to drag ‘all trash to the street.’ Not everyone has come back yet, but many did, and so we began cleaning up the neighborhood. We started with our own homes, but took time to help each other, and we all pitched in to clean up the homes of those who couldn’t make it back. Eventually, we got all the trash away from the houses and to the street, like they asked.”
The man stopped, pointed toward the debris and piles, and said, “We loved our homes and we loved our neighborhood. We realized as we began the cleanup that we weren’t just throwing trash to the street; those were our lives we were discarding–pictures, china, memorabilia. We didn’t want to just throw it out there and have some stranger pick it up without knowing that every pile represents a life’s worth of dreams, heartaches and struggle. That’s why we put the name on each pile–so that people would know that this was more than another impact zone…this place meant something.”
My friend turned to look at the piles and realized that each mound deserved to be owned and cherished, even as they were. The piles may not have looked like much sitting by the street, but by naming them, the neighbors gave value to their struggle.
THOUGHT: The debris of our lives is no different. Even as we drag it to the street, each sickness, each conflict, each season of profound darkness can be imbued with value and meaning when its purpose in the longer journey of our lives is named. Shane Stanford, “The First Encounter: Zacchaeus,” When God Disappears, 52-53
“And he sought to see who Jesus was, but could not because of the crowd, for he was of short stature. So he ran ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see Him, for He was going to pass that way. And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and saw him, and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house.’ So he made haste and came down, and received Him joyfully. But when they saw it, they all murmured, saying, ‘He has gone to be a guest with a man who is a sinner.'” Luke 19:3-7
Mike Benson