Hurricane Katrina’s Aftermath

Almost a year ago, thousands of people were displaced by the disaster known as Hurricane Katrina.

Almost a year ago, I stood beside some dear friends of mine and knelt down to wash feet that were dirty. Compassion overflowed from us, running down from the Father into those who were broken, lost, and lonely.

I wrote an article about those short days in the Astrodome I spent trying to stand beside people in their pain. It changed my life. Well, He changed my life. Opened my eyes, I guess, to the levels of poverty, desperation and heartbreak that this world has in store for some.

Last week, I was thinking about that time in the dome, and thinking about how my heart broke in two for those people. That kind of compassion seems like a distant memory now.

After that experience, in January of this year, I guess I felt ‘called’ to minister to that population full-time, as a case manager - which is just a weird kind of word for a social worker. I am someone who meets with clients (evacuees, in this case) once a week, listens to them, and helps them address obstacles to self-sufficiency. It means listening to too many stories and words filled with death and despair, and then finding food and shelter, dealing with FEMA, and doctors, and whatever crisis results that week.

It’s a weird idea. This Christian idea of ‘calling’. People throw the word around in a scary way, and sometimes I guess I feel like I have to use phrases or words like that so that people can tell I’m really a Christian. The truth is, I’m not like Samuel, being awoken in the night by the audible sound of God’s voice. And I’m not like Moses, spoken to by a burning bush, or covering my face because I’ve looked upon the great I Am. I’m just this kind of impulsive girl, who every now and then, feels the stillness of conviction and direction in the depths of her soul.

The job working with evacuees is really badly paid. And I have zero experience for it. But I was offered it three days before it started. And I didn’t know what to say. I weighed all the pros and cons, I prayed, I pondered. And I had no answer. And then I sat by a lake in Austin, and my gaze was caught by the curve of the wood picnic table I rested my hands on. And my soul became weirdly still, and I looked at my friend across the table, and told her I was taking the job.

That was it. That was my calling.

I guess for me, generally, God just lays His hand on me and pushes me where He’d have me go. And for a long time, I thought that was just the way we commune. Recently though, I’ve been feeling that He wants to maybe shift that a little. Maybe He wants me to learn to discern now. To seek and to see. To exercise that weird idea of listening to a voice that doesn’t speak the way any voice I’ve ever known speaks.

It’s scary. And so much of me wants to fall back on the idea that He’ll just move me as He sees fit. And He will just direct my steps. But He’s also become for me a light unto my path, and sometimes it is my job to seek that light, to actually learn to walk, and not expect to be carried continuously.

And I suppose that’s what the past seven months or so has been. During that time, I’ve worked daily with the population that broke my heart last year. I now have about 13 clients, although it fluctuates continuously depending on current crisis. I just had some suspicions confirmed that there are a few who are manipulating me.

I’ve been taking a class at my church about missions. About living missional lives. Sitting in it tonight I had kind of a realization. I’ve been frustrated recently because I’ve realized that some of my clients don’t deserve the compassion I have to offer.

In the Astrodome, there were hurting people everywhere, and it was just easier to give. It was much easier to pour compassion and love on them when they clearly needed it, and when it was somehow ‘earned’ by the horror they had been forced to endure. And now, now I guess my clients are deceptive and manipulative and I expected something different.

Which is weird, because they are people. Like me, and like you. And I look around at my friends, who ask questions and cast judgments on their manipulation, and then I watch us play the system, with taxes or speeding tickets. I watch myself call the bank and get overdraft fees waived, just through my powers of manipulation. I watch myself consciously adjust every movement and every word to earn approval from my peers. And I see again, that there is no difference. We are all broken. We are all manipulative, and basically, we’re all pretty bad people.

I have a client who is too old and ill to work, and who cries constantly because she has no one here, and no where to go; her time with me is the only time in a week where she sees someone and can finally share her fear that the darkness will overtake her hope and she’ll kill herself in her loneliness. I have a client who I often doubt is actually an evacuee, who turns on the tears to provoke a response, and who uses my time, resources, and emotions to draw things out from me, who waits till I’m not looking to secure the same resources from my co-workers.

And the hard cold truth is that I have suddenly realized that there is no difference between these two clients. All have failed and all have fallen short of the glory of God.

And the more I try and draw lines between them, the more I create in my mind this system of “good guys” and “bad guys”, the more I am able to cast myself in the former group.

In my heart, I feel that I deserve to be in the former group because I am doing good things for people who need it, I am continuing to pour out what compassion I can muster in work that is so hard and frustrating and rarely rewarding. And I guess sometimes the weight of it all gets me worried.

I worry that what I heard as a ‘calling’ was really just a desire to have a job. I worry that it should be more…fun, I guess…to serve, if it’s where you’re supposed to be. I guess somewhere along the line I’ve been taught that God’s calling should take you to a warm fuzzy place, where the work is always easy, never tiring and continuously rewarding.

But maybe I heard the calling. Maybe your words, written and recorded just for me, confirm my calling - “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

Now, I don’t know much about crosses, but my hunch is that taking one up is rarely ‘fun’ or ‘easy’. I look at Jesus’ walk with the cross, and it doesn’t look like the way I think we expect service to be. But He carried the cross, for the joy set before Him. That joy was not having a good time doing it, but that joy was saving me. That joy was the grander purpose of glorifying the Father.

And that’s it, you know?

I’m called to love folks, as He has loved me.

I can talk in theory and big generalizations about how Jesus has loved us, but the bottom line is that it’s real and personal and tangible in my relationship with Him.

His love for me is ridiculous. He loved me before I sought Him. He loved me regardless of how I responded. He pursued me for 20 years, in the face of my disdain and disgust and denial. He stood by, pouring love on me, as I mocked, lied, manipulated and ignored Him. I know there is no situation in which I have ‘merited’ the ridiculous grace and mercy He has poured on me.

And I know that even to this day, I still try to use Him to get what I want - to secure some ridiculous earthly blessing.

And I know that He loves me still, and continues to walk beside me, never disowning me because of my inability to learn. I know He doesn’t take time off from me. I know He doesn’t wash His hands of me.

Jesus doesn’t love me because it makes Him feel good. Jesus doesn’t have compassion because I’m in a crappy situation. He has compassion because of who He is. He loves me because of who He is.

Compassion does not depend on the circumstance of the one receiving it. Compassion depends on the character of the source.

And that’s my call. To have compassion because of who He is. To love because of who He is. To just get out of the way, and allow His love to flow through me, without trying to stop it, or seize it because I’m afraid it may run out without some left for me. I guess I’ll just let Him be what He is. My savior. My lover. Their savior. Their lover. Regardless of how they respond. Regardless of how I feel.

And that’s the joy set before me. To not be a slave to emotion. I don’t serve God because it feels wonderful all the time. I serve God because of who He is. Because there is joy in obedience, and there is joy in knowing that He is beyond how I feel. And that I really would follow Him to death, to pain, and even to the mundane drudgery of day-to-day life.

Because He is.