The people had been taken into exile. They were not feeling the joy they had previously, and did not want to sing anymore.
The last time I felt this kind of despair was after hurricanes Katrina and Rita. I remember very vividly the news reports after Katrina, seeing all the devastation of the people of Orleans all the way to Mississippi. I cried for them. My dad couldn’t sleep, and all he wanted to do was get his fishing boat over there to help rescue people. We saw all the houses that we knew were gone or would have to be gone. We saw the people being rescued off their roofs. We heard the horrible stories about the Super Dome.
Then three weeks later, Rita hit our area, and caused very similar devastation. I remember again watching the news, but this time seeing reports of the water in my home town. Then seeing pictures my cousin took, while in his boat, of the water level against our house. I remember the weekend I drove home from college to help my family, and seeing all our personal belongings out on the front lawn covered in mud. Another cousin was there helping pull all the carpet out. There was a giant hole in the front wall in my sister’s bedroom (the one I shared with her for 16 years). The water was so rough when the tidal surge came, it carried pieces of wood from miles away and repeatedly hit the house, making the hole. Water surged through the house, to a level of 48”, and sat that way for a few days before water receded. That weekend, my dad began pulling the paneling down, to see how high from the ground they would need to repair. But the mold was already creeping up much higher than we could handle. It would all have to come down.
I remember taking loads to my aunt’s house in a neighboring town, and scrubbing pots, dishes, clothes, etc, trying to get the mud off. My mom’s curio cabinet had gently leaned over in the waters, so none of the demitasse cups broke. By the time we finished cleaning those delicate things, I wish they would have. I was so angry. This was my sister’s senior year of high school, and my senior year of college. We lost our home, and most things in it. Forty-eight inches put the water over the countertop level in the kitchen. Think about all that is in your bottom cabinets. My grandparents lived a pasture away. Then two sets of aunts and uncles on the same road. They lost everything too. I’ve never seen my grandfather cry before. He cried because he couldn’t help his children. That broke me. To see such a strong man cry.
We were in despair. We were hurting. By this point, FEMA was run ragged from Katrina, and most provisions were gone. All they were able to provide our family for temporary shelter was a small pop-up trailer. My dad stayed in it at the old property because apparently things like this cause crazy people to wander in your yard and take things, or try to break in and steal wiring. But, despite all the sadness, people who didn’t have as much damage (though they still had plenty) started coming to help us remove things. Neighbors were helping neighbors. I remember going with my mom to church a few months later, and as we sat in our lawn chairs (because the floor and pews had to be removed, and the pews hadn’t been replaced yet), and the priest reminded us of our strength that God has given us. Our unity as a community. Our love of each other. This was a tough time in which I stopped singing because I couldn’t understand why this had happened. But that little church and lawn chairs helped me remember a God is with us in the good times and in the bad. He was there in the hearts of our neighbors and family and friends. And once again, our community began to sing again.
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