Home

We hear it all our lives, don't we? "Home is where the heart is." Such a nice platitude for those of us who know that home is at the end of the cul de sac. For many of you, home is the place to which you will return from your vacation. Or, maybe home is back in the Midwest where Mom and Dad await your return - with or without the grandchildren.

If you live in New Orleans, it's possible that your home looks like this... a 165 square foot trailer parked in your tiny front yard. A trailer, ladies and gentlemen.

We met the couple who's house many of our volunteers are working hard to solidify. They are Lena and Royland. She teaches pre-school at the First Presbyterian Church in New Orleans. He builds boats. They are beautiful people. Young. Strong. Appreciative.

They invited us into their home this morning for coffee and donuts. I thought it would probably stink, to be honest. I thought it would be messy and unkempt. I thought, and I am ashamed to say it, that I didn't even want to step inside. But curiosity took the best of me and I carefully opened their aluminum door.

This, is the first thing I saw. Just like your house, just like mine... there are still rules. Then, I turned to the left and saw the children's room. Two platform beds in which three little kids (all under the age of 6) sleep every night. Neatly hung clothes hang from a makeshift rod on one top bunk. Storage for dry goods, Mac & Cheese, Cheerios is used on the other. The shower is 2'x2'. The master contains one bed with 12 inches on either side for standing.

This family of 5 has lived in this trailer for two years. Not two weeks. Not two months. Two years. Over 700 days. It is absolutely unfathomable.

The thing is, it's not just Roy and Lena who need help. It's every single one of their neighbors... most of whom also live in trailers on the front lawn. It's thousands upon thousands of homes.

We sat around the dinner tables tonight laughing about the funniest moments of our day, laughing about the Barry & Mark fencing team (whom we now lovingly refer to as the BM Movement) and their 40 hours in the "dessert" (an area of town that is desolate and sandy with no running water or electricity.) We laughed about the ridiculousness of getting stuck in a 2'x2'' trailer bathroom. We laughed about getting lost and the moment at which I realized I had really and truly "driven my chevy to the levy."

The fellowship hall of FPC New Orleans felt like home. In the midst of the laughing, a hush came over our table and I wondered whether Roy and Lena were tucking their little kids into their "room." We shook our heads in disbelief at the stamina they maintain to endure, persevere and cling steadfastedly to their home.

For so many of us, home is really about our belongings...our couches, our dishes, our CDs, our closets, our shoes, our tools, our checkbooks, etc. What if your home (and I do mean all of it) were literally gone. I would challenge each of you to take a roll of masking tape and measure off 165 square feet of your home. Spend a day in that space with your family. Just one day. And try to determine exactly what your home is. Is it all of the things in your house that make it your home? Or is it what you might have left...what you carry within your heart (or on your back) if everything disappeared in one horrible, horrible night?