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Some Facts:

• The tidal wave that surged thro D'Iberville was minimum 20ft high. Some reports say as much as 30-60ft high
• The water remained 8 - 10ft deep for a week over the town of population of 10,000.
• Click here for map of D'Iberville
• Click here for aerial photo of D'Iberville
• Town of D'Iberville''s name comes from Pierre LeMoyne d' Iberville: Discoverer of the Mississippi Gulf Coast in 1697

Another victom's story. As I returned from the bathroom, I noticed a single elderly man struggling to fit one more box into is already overloaded car. A car that was filled bottom to top and door to door with the remaining bits of his life that had been torn apart piece by piece. Now, at his old age he has to put the pieces back together somehow. His back was turned to me and as I reached for my camera, I realized what I was doing. Disappointed in myself, I rushed over to the man to offer assistance. He reluctantly assured me he would be all right; but there was something more he was trying to tell me. He went on to say that he and his wife rode out every other storm together and survived just fine. However, his wife had passed away in 2000, so for Katrina he fled to his son’s house out of state. He returned to discover that he had lost everything in the storm. This humble old man then shared that if his wife would have been alive, they would have attempted to ride out the storm, but they surely would have perished together. What hurt the most was that he told this story as though it was a wish. He reached out for a deep embrace as he thanked me for all my help and I did my best to choke back the tears. As I walked away, my I first thought was that I had not helped him the way I had intended, but I then realized he just wanted someone to hear his story.

When we first arrived to our destination, Biloxi, MS, I was overjoyed to help and ready to jump in head first. However, the confusion of the setting hindered my willingness and frustrated me. This was a disaster area and we arrived in the heart of a transition of authority. Soon enough we got our assignment for the afternoon. We were in an empty Save-A-Lot parking lot separating pallets of goods into boxed isles and helping people find things that might make their house a home again. The heat was nearly unbearable, but went unrecognized until a well deserved break was granted to us. The smell of mold polluted the air in a concealed constant manner that wasn’t overwhelming, but simply disturbing. Just when I thought I had the hang of things we got the message that we were needed more elsewhere.

That’s when we arrived in D’Iberville, a town about twenty minutes away, in an abandoned supermarket parking lot under two huge circus-like tents. As we entered the tents we received a standing ovation from the over forty volunteers who were preparing to leave that night and were literally praying for replacements. Under these two tents were three main operations: a hot food line, a medical section, and food/goods distribution area. The majority of our eighteen person team was assigned to kitchen duty and some of our men went to the warehouse (the gutted supermarket). Then we were off to learn the ropes because at five o’clock the next morning we were on our own. We had a great kitchen crew and the continuous work was worth the reward; serving over three thousand meals a day to such grateful people.

For many of these people though, it meant much more than just a hot meal. It was a piece of normalcy and a place for fellowship. It was maybe the one thing they could now rely on. I helped an elderly lady to her car with two hot dinners, one for her and one for her husband. She joked that even though they lost everything in the storm, her husband still liked to take her out to dinner. It seemed almost everyone I met had such great losses, but somehow always tried to look on the bright side and they were sure to count their blessings.

While I was there and had opportunities to talk with the people, listen to their stories and offer a powerful word of prayer. I learned that simply because I was there, these people had not lost hope, however they were afraid. They are afraid that they would soon be forgotten. While New Orleans grabs most the attention from Katrina and hurricane season is far from over, the volunteers may relocate and the hot meals could disappear. These people are trying so hard to put their lives back together, but Katrina was like no other. The confusion lies deep and healing doesn’t happen over night. In the scope of things our mission may have seemed like a drop in the bucket, but to some of those people our little mission meant the world.

As I sat in the motor home I dreaded the long trip home, but at least I had a place to go home to. I longed for my bed and a refreshing hot shower; however my heart stayed in D’Iberville- with Ashley, a girl about my age with a handicapped boyfriend that now lives with nine other people in a two bedroom home filled with black mold. And Jacob, a ten year old boy who was so deeply soiled, his hands would not come clean from Purell to eat his dinner. However, he wasn’t playing with his younger brother, he went home for the first time that day and was picking through the trash covered field that was once his back yard. Also Chris, a single father who took his four and six year old sons to his mother’s in Tennessee “for a visit” while he returned to a boat dock, which was once his home (a boat was overturned on top of his house). And Debbie’s son, who went home only to discover the remains of his long time neighbor. My heart stays with these people and I will never forget.

(Note -Laura is 20 years and hopes to become a Journalist. She has spent time as an exchange student in other countries. This was an experience that was tough to put into words - her "Reality Check" Report is really appreciated and very poignant. Thank you Laura).