On the Road to Recovery ...

This past weekend my husband and I visited the Mississippi Gulf Coast, and although we live in central Mississippi, we had not been to the Coast since that fateful Monday, August 29, 2005, when Katrina wreaked havoc on its beaches, old majestic oaks, historical landmarks, grand beachfront homes, and countless businesses, including its lucrative tourism business.

Of course, we saw the news reports of the devastation left in Katrina's path, but until I saw it with my own eyes, the full extent of the destruction didn't really sink in. How can you comprehend the power of a storm of such magnitude that it ripped up concrete roads and sidewalks and leveled high rise buildings, houses, casinos, literally everything in its path, and carried tons of sand inland.

All weekend, I was trying to comprehend what it must have been like those days and weeks and months after the storm, and I truly cannot imagine the sense of desolation and helplessness the survivors must have felt when they returned to where their homes had once stood.



As I looked at countless empty concrete slabs surrounded by the twisted and broken trunks and branches of 100-year-old oaks still standing, it was also difficult to imagine the overwhelming work, not to mention the danger, involved in the clean up. And for the most part, there was no electricity, phones, or water available for weeks afterward.


Although I think the natural beauty of the Mississippi Gulf Coast was forever changed by Katrina, the clean up and recovery efforts during the past two and a half years are remarkable.

Up and down the coastline, new hotels, high-rise condo and apartment buildings, restaurants, and sumptuous casinos are back in business, with new construction going on everywhere you look.

Thousands of homes are being built ...







And the white sand beaches are clean and beautiful,
and once again filled with people having a good time.



Although a lot of what Katrina destroyed can never be replaced, like the majestic old oaks, no storm, no matter how powerful, can ever take away the spirit and determination of the people who call the Gulf Coast home. And as we drove along the beaches ... from the town of Ocean Springs through Biloxi, Gulfport, Pass Christian, Long Beach, and on to Bay Saint Louis ... three words came to mind which seem to embody the spirit of these amazing folks as they rebuild their lives, their homes, and their businesses. Those three words are Faith, Hope, and Charity, which are, indeed, alive and well on our beautiful Mississippi Coast.

I think this picture says it all ...




I have created a slideshow of photos from our trip which is posted below, and tomorrow I will post a couple of other stories related to "The Road to Recovery." I hope you will come back to visit again soon.

"Leaving a House"

The Wit and Wisdom of Marjorie Holmes Marjorie Holmes is my favorite inspirational writer. Her heartfelt and moving "conversations with God" touch on everyday life, and from time to time, I'd like to share some of her "conversations" with you. I think most of us can probably relate to this particular selection. "On Leaving a House" A selection from "Who Am I, God?" Oh, God, please bless this house that we are leaving. We worked so hard to achieve it, put so much of ourselves into it, and now we must abandon it, and my heart aches foolishly. I wander about the yard, noting the shrubs and bushes we set out. The peach tree should bloom and bear this year and we won't be here to see it! Forgive me for this sense of loss. Bless it. May it bear abundantly for the next people who live here. And the patio. Our hands raked the sand, laid the bricks. Our feet, the feet of our family and our friends, walked them; we enjoyed so many cookouts and happy times here. God, thank you for those times and may the smoke curl just as fragrantly and the food be just as good for those next ones. This kitchen, Lord, almost but never quite the way I wanted. But my husband was so good to do so much. Thank you for his efforts, and the countless meals I cooked here. For these little curtains I made and must take down. For the oven I am scrubbing so ardently for my successor. For all the casseroles it produced, the birthday cakes and holiday turkeys. Bless the woman who will work here in my place. May this kitchen be her cozy shelter ... and may she have it just the way she wants. God bless this fireplace, these bookshelves, this staircase. All these rooms, torn up now, rawly echoing to the tramp of movers' feet. Yet still throbbing with the life that sang and banged and burst within them. Our laughter, our quarrels and confusions. Our happiness and our agonies. I can't bear it. I think for a minute I can't bear it -- to leave this house for strangers, no matter what happened here. It is a part of my life, Lord. My breath, my blood, my being. Cursing its defects, loving its comforts -- my life and the life of my family was here. Now you take my hand and lead me gently from this house. A part of me is briskly directing the activity of moving, a part secretly crying, a part of me at peace. "Goodbye, dear house," I can say. "Be a good house for them. And thank you, God, for the part of my life that will always be here.