On Thursday, September 1, an equipment truck, a van, and two busloads packed with almost 100 students, faculty, and staff from Andrews University, Andrews Academy, Broadview Academy, and Great Lakes Academy drove the 20 hours down to Bass Memorial Academy in Lumberton, Mississippi. They were filled with the desire to do something to bring relief to the thousands of people left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. With the media flashing images of devastation and depression—a city underwater, whole neighborhoods flattened to the ground, looting, people desperately searching for food, the horrors of life in the Superdome, and shootings over bags of ice—we didn’t know what we would find when we arrived. Every mile we drove further south, the worse the countryside began to look, the weaker our cell phone signals grew, and the rarer became our chance to purchase gas.
Originally asked to help repair and clean up the grounds of the academy, our group, as well as a crew of 40 students and five faculty and staff from Southern Adventist University, ended up doing much more. Joining forces with Adventist Community Team Services (ACTS), we went out into the surrounding community to distribute water and food, worked in one of two mobile soup kitchens, unloaded semi-trucks full of donated food and water, and performed a variety of other tasks.
The devastation and depression experienced by the rural communities of Lumberton and Purvis, Mississippi, was heart-breaking. Cars lined up for over a mile down the road each morning, waiting for their turn to drive through the distribution line based on the Bass campus, where community members would get the trunks of their cars stuffed full of boxes of canned goods, baby food, water, toiletries, and other basics that had suddenly become luxuries. Thousands of people waited in line for a hot meal served up from one of two mobile soup kitchens. But, as I served up spoonfuls of goulash and string beans onto Styrofoam plates, I never encountered a harsh word. Instead, I received grateful smiles, humble spirits, and a restored faith in the goodness of people who lived out Christ’s admonition to “love thy neighbor as thyself.”
I’ll never forget my encounter with a particular elderly man who passed through the lunch line on Saturday. He was thin; his face filled with wrinkles, a baseball cap covered his white hair. As I began to pile macaroni on his plate, he pulled back saying, “that’s enough, thanks.” I looked down at his small amount of food and scooped up another spoonful, unconvinced that one tiny scoop was enough to fill this hungry man. But, despite my encouragement to let me give him another scoop, he just smiled and insisted he didn’t need any more. My heart was touched by his unselfishness, his desire to take less for himself so that someone else might have a little more.
Amazingly, this happened more than once. Where were the people pushing and shoving each other, the fighting over loaves of bread and gallons of milk I’d seen on the television and read about in newspapers? The entire time I was in Mississippi, I never heard one angry word spoken about another person. Instead, I encountered grateful hearts and caring neighbors. People came for miles around to fill up their cars not only with food and supplies for themselves, but for their neighbors and friends. Extra plates were requested for the elderly woman who lived next door who couldn’t get out; neighbors directed us to the woman with the baby next door who might need some water.
As we were getting ready to leave on Monday afternoon, I stood in the food line for what would be my last hot meal from the makeshift kitchen. Because we didn’t have much time to eat before we needed to pile on the bus, our leaders instructed us to politely make our way to the front of the line. I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty cutting in front of those who had been waiting so long, but I knew that I had to if I was going to eat at all. When it was my turn to be served, I turned to the couple next to me and apologized for jumping in front of them, explaining that our group was leaving. I expected them to be angry or at least annoyed. But instead of anger, I met smiles of gratitude, something I’d never experience had I been in line for a burrito at Taco Bell. They insisted I go ahead and thanked me for what our group was doing. I know that each one who went on this trip could relate a similar story.
There were many incredible miracles that occurred that weekend in the form of semi-trucks of food and water, clouds to cover the sun and make the heat a little more bearable, or a supply of gas to fill our almost empty tanks and carry us home. But one of the greatest miracles I experienced was seeing, in the midst of what can’t be described as anything less than a disaster, the spirit of Christ alive in the hearts of the people I encountered, who gave me much more than I ever could have given them.
Beverly Stout is a University Relations correspondent.
