Witness

During my spring break, instead of watching the pretty girls on the beaches of the carribean, I went with my church to Waveland, Mississippi to help the victims of Katrina. Hurricane Katrina raged a long time ago. I witnessed when I arrived at the site how devastated the location still is. We worked for four days but the work that needed desperately to be done will be far from over. From what the missionaries at the site were telling us, the workers were few. This weekend I volunteered to go up to the congregation and testify to what I had seen and experienced. Some of the memories were amazing, I never had so much fun. Some of the memories were troubling, people were desperate for relief, and the missionaries were scrambling to find replacements. I struggle to find the words to say this Sunday when I go to church. From the time limitations, will I be a witness to how wonderful the trip was or how devastated the people were there? It really brings into discussion how I want others to precieve the event, and how I want to remember the event. Both roles are important to me, the great bonding I had with my team members will be unforgettable but so would the face of suffering finally receiving some relief. I found it interesting how closely the subject at hand related to the discussions we have about the witnesses of the holocaust and the hidden gypsy suffering.