So, fun story.
After Katrina I traveled to Mississippi to do relief work. It was the most meaningful 10 days of my life, and I will talk the ear off of anyone who asks me about it.
We ate food served in giant buffet lines in the parking lot of what once was an airport, slept on the floor of a gym that had no power and we showered in science room sinks and in the back of an 18 wheeler rigged up to be a mobile disaster relief unit. Every morning, we’d get up and pile all of us into a van in all sorts of uncomfortable and illegal ways and drive to work on the house of a woman we’d all come to think of as the southern grandmother we’d never had.
Our second night in town, we had driven through Gulfport and walked amongst the ruins of homes. I prayed at the remains of an alter in a church that had no roof or walls. We were all feeling this mutual sadness and emptiness that no one could explain, so we said nothing and opted for tacos in the only restaurant still standing for miles and miles.
There were maybe 15 of us, all dirty and sad and eating tacos and definitely in college and definitely not belonging among people who were essentially refugees in their own town. A man approached us and we began chatting about what we were doing and how we were feeling. And then left without a word. No one even gave it a second thought.
When we left the restaurant, we’d discovered our tab had been paid with a note from that man that just said “The people of Mississippi thank you.”
