DaddyRoBlog

Knowing when to quit

Perhaps some of you have seen the book King, Warrior, Magician, Lover : Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculine.  Coauthored by a Jungian psychologist and a mythologist, it uses these four categories to discuss what healthy masculinity might look like in the world today.

As one who got caught in the great divide between traditional and modern concepts of manhood (though perhaps this divide is one that exists for every generation), I’ve spent a lot of my life actively and intentionally thinking about what a man should be—about what kind of man I want to be, and how that might express itself in the various roles of my life (husband, father, priest, friend, and so on).

In thinking about these things, I’ve found these four categories helpful.  I realize at first they might sound presumptuous, but that depends on how the concepts are defined.  The mature (desirable) warrior, for instance, is courageous and disciplined, as opposed to being the kind of man whose childish conquests often end in destructive activity.

And it’s this concept of warrior that I’ve been thinking about lately, because it overlaps some of what seems to be necessary in being a good priest.  Part of what has drawn me to this calling is dissatisfaction with the world (as beautiful and glorious and good as it often is).  An essential piece of that to which I’ve committed my life to is the fight to make our world a better place.

Of course my greatest battles are with me.  It was, for instance, a very real wrestling match with myself to actually go to Mississippi. 

But the question I struggle with—and one of the ones I know I sometimes get so very wrong—is, how do I know when to stop fighting? 

Coming Home

Went back out again yesterday.    The guy who sent us told us the first job had dogs.   "Don't worry about the big one," he said.  "He doesn't have any teeth.  But watch out for the little guy.  Hopefully he'll be on a leash."

The big dog was friendly.  The little dog wasn't on a leash.  And there was a third dog we hadn't heard anything about that was also big.   We left the doors to our truck open in case we had to make a hasty retreat, but it turned out OK.

The last couple days they've actually let me use a chain saw.  Larry took a picture just to prove that I had all ten fingers before I started.  Sawdust sure is itchy.

Our last couple jobs took us back over to the beach.  Once again the devestation simply overwhelmed.  Each time we saw it--even if it was the same place, it hit hard. 

With no street signs, we again got lost.  Met a very nice man while we were trying to figure out where we were and where we still had to go.

His house had five feet of water in it ("Barely even had any water in the yard during Camille," he said).  Everything had to be gutted.  And again, because his home had an elevation of 23 feet, no flood insurance.  He was 63 years old, worked in the shipping industry, and so had no job (the ports here are not  yet open).  So what does a man like that do? 

Talking to him I felt myslef become overcome by the heart break of it all.  But once again, he was not bitter and did not complain.  Simply said, "I guess I'll retire a little early now that it looks like I've got a nice retirement project to do."  Like a lot of people in the area, he clearly wanted to talk.  I think its a  mixture of trying to work the trauma out of their system and loneliness, since so many people still are not back and those that are here are displaced.  "Neighborhoods", and the social comfort they offer, no longer exist.

In fact, starting this Monday, at a predetermined line they are simply bringing in big bulldozers just to level absolutely everything, pushing the rubble to I90 which runs along the coast where it can be picked up by massive trucks and hauled away.

The work we did yesterday was some of the hardest emotionally so far.  We were actually in a home removing dry wall and cleaning up, as well as removing debris from the lawn.  It was very personal work, driving home the enormity of what was lost.

So we go home today.  We are worn out, body, mind, heart and soul.  I can't even imagine what it must be like for those who cannot go home; for whom this continues to be their day to day reality. 

The Work Continues

One of the areas we worked yesterday is called Pass Christian, where they had a 35 foot storm surge.  Houses, like this one, were swept off their foundations and washed away.  In this area alone they found 400 people dead--and are still finding them with another body being discovered yesterday.

One of our jobs was to clear a lot--the house was swept to the lot next door, all but collapsing it in the process (and so was clearly unlivable).  That way, the man who owned the property had a place to set a trailer and will be able to return to the area with a place to live.

They are also still finding people who nobody even knows are out there.  They found one older couple yesterday, living in a tent on a concrete slab, simply by following the smoke from their cooking fire.  They found another group of 30 a few days ago living in a barn.

Today one member of our party flies home before flying to Ireland tomorrow.  A digital architect, he is overseeing a project worth more than the GNP of most countries--even developed ones.  But  he is here, at  his own expense(though the church did offer to pay his way), a good team member who works hard without complaining.  He says he has never experienced anything like this, but that this has also been one of the most meaningful weeks of his life.

Part of what makes this work bearable is the community that has formed here.  And yes, those are specimen cups from which we are drinking.  The medical folks assured us they were sterile...

Tired

Here is where we started out today, with  Larry Gambee doing the modelling.  You can see this house is pretty well buried.

And here it is when we were done.  Nobody even fell in the pool.  (Which is a good thing, because the way it smelled there was a strict understanding that if anybody went in they were walking home).

And actually, somebody did go into the pool--a cute little dog that took a liking to us.  Unfortunately, the dog couldn't get out.  Bill from Barrington IL, who was working with us, finally was able to scoop the dog out.  Because he also drove, it turned out he didn't hav to walk home...

Anyhow, the picture to the above right is how the house turned out.

Some Pics from Today

One street over from the first house we worked.  6 weeks out and clearly unpassable.  In that pile were boats, cars, and homes.

This is the other side of the debri pile where you can see a car, two boats, and the roof of a crushed house.  You also can see how high the storm surge piled the debris...

The final picture is one more of what we  are calling the "devestation zone".  Other than a few trees, there just isn't anything left.

I'll close with a story.  Yesterday at breakfast someone walked up to me and said, "You look dazed and confused."  I think they thought what we are experiencing must have been too much for me too handle.  It has been difficult, but I explained I was OK and that is pretty much how I always look (those of you who know me know!)

But then I remembered my basic psych training, and something called projection--where we project on to other what we ourselves are feeling.  So I asked this woman (a clergy person) how she was feeling,  and it just poured out.

There is a lot of physical work to be done here.  I like that kind of work, so different from what I normally do, so clearly useful.  But I am reminded that there is also the work of listening--and that is something we can practice wherever we may be.

Day 44

We saw a sign yesterday that said "Day 43 and I'm doing my part.  How about you?"  I thought that would make a good title for a post, but it's a little long.  So it's my opening paragraph instead.

We figured we got the relief center in pretty good shape today, so we went off site and worked  until dark.  It felt good to work long and hard.

On the left is the first  house we visited.  Yes, that is a very large tree draped across the van and another tree on the roof.  Though this house is at an elevation of 21 feet, it was flooded with a good 4 feet of water.  They did not have flood insurance.

To the right is the house when we were done.  We felt pretty good when it was done.  Well, mentally at least. Phsyically, we were pretty well beat.

As  you can see, we managed to get most of the very large tree cut and removed, but we never could get it off the van. 

Maybe a hundred yards from the house; complete and utter devestation.  Even though we saw it our  first day, it still hit hard seeing it again and walking through it.  I'll post a couple more pics below.

Just a couple more

Hope this isn't too many  pictures.  I don't know if inserting pictures makes this a beast for people with dial up connections to load.  If so, sorry.

I thought you might find this picture interesting.  On the left those are--or were--road signs. 

To the right is the kind of thing  we saw over and over again driving in on our first day.  You can see the every structure in sight has been obliterated; power lines are down, and rubble is strewn everywhere.  And remember--this almost 6 weeks after the event!

The stories are, of course, heartbreaking.  I met a woman working in another local clinic (we transferred some of our supplies to them) who lost everything.  Here house was on a bluff 27 feet above sea level (for the coast, that is high.  I doubt many houses on coastal Florida have that kind of elevation.  I know ours never did), so she didn't have flood insurance.  Her house was still inundated in floodwater and damaged structurally to the point where it is no longer habitable.  She is living in a FEMA trailer  and doesn't know how she'll ever be able to rebuild her life.  But she was positive and upbeat and said--honestly, I think,  "Hey, I have nothing to complain about.  I'm alive.  Could be worse."

Kinda put things in perspective, doesn't it?

You are no longer hearing about it in the media--actually, you probably never did hear much about this area.  Bigger fish to fry (the New Orleans fiasco and assigning blame for it), and now the media has moved on to the next bigger better story.

But these people need our help.  Bad.  St. Matthews--you've done so much already, and I am so grateful.  But it is clear to me we are going to need to dig in and do more...

Day Two (Tuesday

The number of volunteers--and supplies--is way down this week.  That meant that yesterday, nobody was even able to get off site to help clean up.

Basically, we had to move and organize supplies, staff the stores and the clinics, and transfer hundreds (thousands?) of boxes of medical supplies.  For us, that meant another full day of lifting.  I asked one of the docs if, as long as were doing all this lifting, she could't prescribe some potent anabolics.   I always did want to look like Arnold (Schwarzenegger).  Anyway,  I soaked my shirt completely through with sweat several times over.

The picture to the below right is of medical record left out to dry.  If you look close, you can see people's x-rays laying out on top.

To the left you'll see a debri (did I spell that right?  No spell check on this and I am a horrible spellr...) pile from inside the hospital.  It was inundated in over 4 feet of water, and so has been gutted.  They are  not sure when--or if--they will reopen.  Again, think lost jobs and service unavailable.

BTW, in the background you'll see a blue FEMA tarp as well.

More Pics

Well, here is the barge picture mentioned in post below.  Computers all went down last night, so I never was able to do any more posting.

To the right is K-Mart that has seen a better day.  As you can see, it will be  while before it reopens.  Part of the significance of that is the lost jobs it represents, as well as the inavailability of the things people would normally buy there.

I'm going to go ahead and post these now just in case the connection doesn't hold.  I'll keep posting above, but I don't want to loose what I've got here (which is what happened yesterday).

Katrina Pics 1

This is the slab of a house.  As  you can see, no house.  About a block or so from the ocean, this is pretty much all you see.

The image to the right is a massive barge that was washed over a block inland.  Tim Tracy and James Thompson give you a sense of perspective.

BTW, our first day here we really learned to appreciate the value of infrastructure such as road signs.  With virtually all the road signs blown away, we had an awfully hard time finding our way around.

The computer is being very slow at loading photos into this document.  I'm going to go ahead and post then one then try again.