Duck and Cover

I don't know how to feel.
I don't know how to help.
I don't know why I feel this enveloping sense of helplessness and guilt.
How do I make all this better?
How do I make it stop?
The television screams misery.
The pundits scream blame.
Shame on the federal government; shame on the mayor of New Orleans; shame on the gays in the city who brought this judgment on themselves; shame on the National Guard; shame on the cops; shame on the survivors; shame on the Red Cross for not doing enough, shame on me, shame on you.
The blogosphere is electric with pointing fingers and stories of death and destruction; slashing through two states' worth of materials; slashing through many more hearts.

Everyone has someone to hold down. Everyone has something to posit, ponder and pontificate; until even the heroes look like villains amidst the heaps the rubble.

I am curled up, my knees to my chest with my arms wrapped round them, rocking with the newscasting, my chin leaning wan against my forearm.

But I don't feel bad enough.
I don't feel like helping as much as I should.
I don't feel God anywhere in this.
I cannot make sense of it.
I cannot be confident in anything.

I have not taken my truck to Mississippi, laden with diapers and water and helped anyone.
I have not opened my home to any displaced strangers.

I am unfeeling. Even in my constant prayer.
Still I cry.

Because I was the one who said that if no one got hurt I wouldn't mind if New Orleans got flushed away. The crime and the dirt and the streets vomiting live sex shows; the rapes the murders, the gangs, the poverty. The t-shirt shops and the alcoholism. The homeless. The painted women with experienced eyes, targeting their next John, reading his walk. The hopelessness that paints the city with gray bleakness. I have only been once, and aside from the food, would never return. It was a sad city, full of despair.

But I didn't want anyone to die. I didn't want this to happen. If someone could have taken the depravity away, destroyed the city and rebuilt it fresh and clean, all the while preserving every life, giving them the chance God wants for them -- for a future and a hope...

I don't know who to root for. I don't know how to solve this division in my heart. Because it would be so easy to lay this at God's feet and say that they deserved this; that it was His wrath. It would be so easy to let the thugs "destroy each other" and not do my appointed duty and pray for their lives to be turned around. And even with the free will that God has allowed us all, I am even unsure if that is the correct thing to pray anymore. What transformative power will my prayer have on someone who is unwilling to lay down their guns and be rescued? Even if they are rescued, will they be rehabilitated?

Will the "New" Orleans just end up being a government sponsored disaster in the long run? Will these people be any better off spiritually when they've finally moved back in to the city? The city that will have been rebuilt by helping hands -- hands that gave everything they have to help. Will the returning refugees care? Or will they complain that it wasn't done fast enough; that their kitchen is not big enough; that George Bush should have built them a patio instead of a den?

What good does finger pointing do us when there are so many other things that need to be addresed? Can't we shut our mouths long enough to have one day of helping and healing without hating those who need it; those who aided the destruction; and those who are stepping in to help -- whatever their political or spiritual persuasions? Why can't we just be still in our minds and do what needs to be done?

I just got back from a much needed weekend vacation. I am planning my rapidly approaching wedding. I cannot afford to help with money. I cannot take time away from my job to volunteer. I have spent all my resources on my people, my needs, my priorities. I am praying, but not fervently enough. And even then, I am confused in what to pray for.

I am two, striving for the soul of one.

But I do have an apartment full of furniture I cannot keep. I do have pots and pans that I do not need. I am fortunate to be marrying a man who already has all of this waiting for me when I move in to his house. I can give all of it away to someone who has lost everything. So that's what I'm going to do. I cannot save two states' worth, but I can help one family with their essentials. I pray that will be something worthwhile.

"God... show me how to help. Give me the compassion I am supposed to have. The answers lie with You, Father. My concern is to pray for the the needy; the hungry, the sick -- in all areas, the naked, the afflicted, the weary and the scared. And for those who heal them.

May You receive the honor due You. May Your name be shouted from the rooftops with praise and gratitude -- precious, powerful and merciful Father. You are our Builder, our Provider, our Protector, Comforter and Keeper. May we not forget how blessed we are to be Yours."