Doors of Pearlington

One way to gain an understanding of a town or city or neighborhood is to study its doors. The style, the architectural detailing, the colors, the individual decorating, etc., all play a role in defining both the people who live behind them and the community they are a part of. There have been various types of photo exhibits on the doors found in places like San Fransisco, Paris, and Ireland. Just as the doors found in these places say much about the place, so the doors of Pearlington say much about Pearlington:

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Help ...and Hope

(a continuation of the story begun in "The Path to Pearlington" (see below))


It is now Sunday, two days after the unplanned trip to this town I did not know of ...but which God did. I am now heading back, this time with a team from my home church, Bethlehem Baptist in Minneapolis, that has just driven 1200 miles through the night, not knowing where they were coming to help ...but which God did. As we drive from Baton Rouge to Pearlington, we do not know what we will be doing when we get there ...but I'm sure God does.

We head, first, to see Buzzy and Grady. It's good to see them again. They're like old friends even though we just met 2 days ago. They've made some improvements to their front yard camp ground, although it is not really a yard any more. It's mostly just dried mud.

I make introductions and then ask Buzzy and Grady if they could tell us what things we should look out for while here. They say the snakes and the crocodiles have, supposedly, all gone further inland as they don't like salt water. They told how the black mold on the insides of homes is more dangerous than the other color molds. Who needs government sanctioned orientations when there are Buzzys and Gradys on site?

We then head over to the distribution center, located in the elementary school gym. There, I spot Jon (later to become known as "Canada Jon"). I go over to him and tell of the team that has come. A big smile sweeps across his face. Neither of us need to say anything more.

The shelf-less distribution center when we arrived

In the evening, we head over to Hebron Baptist, the church from which, on Friday, God directed Tom Eckblad and I to Pearlington, and to which, in an only-God way, He brought us back to that night. It was clear this was the place God had for the team to stay while working in Pearlington. As we blow up air matresses and try to fit them into three small rooms, we brainstorm on what we should do the next day in Pearlington.

Knowing there is no one to serve breakfast the next morning, some volunteer to leave early to make breakfast for other volunteers and for the residents that have no place to cook. Others, having seen the organizationally challenged distribution center, decide to start by making shelves and clothes racks to get things off the floor.

I have a less practical idea – create a Mall of America Pearlington, complete with an amusement park in the middle for the kids.

Early Monday morning, some head off to Pearlington to fix and serve breakfast for 100 plus people while others go to get supplies to build shelves, etc. I search for a "car" for the rollercoaster that is to rise in the middle of the mall.

As I look for this "car", I don't find anything that I can justify spending the money on. Then I have an idea: Tom Varno's wheelbarrow the team brought down could be the "car" the kids ride in as someone wheels it up and down ramps made of blocks of wood and plywood. I buy some paint (custom color, of course) and a cheap (war-time mentality) paint brush to transform the wheelbarrow.

There is only one problem with my Mall of America Pearlington vision – I am the only one who seems to have it. Everyone else is intent on making breakfast, building shelves, or organizing the distribution center. No one is volunteering to help build the rollercoaster. I don't think anyone thinks I am really serious - I have this problem sometimes. If they do think I'm serious, they probably are passing it off as being frivolous.

The reality? I am serious about being frivolous. I've spent 2 weeks visiting shelters. I have seen the children, children without their homes, without their toys, without a playground, trying to "be good" while there was nothing to do. The shelters are often just rooms of wall to wall cots.

Two children from Pearlington modeling newfound shoes - being frivolous - in the distribution center.

I decide to pursue my idea alone. I get out the custom paint and start painting the wheelbarrow. The more time that passes, however, the more it becomes clear that this rollercoaster is not going to be. The death blow was when the first shelving unit got built and was set right in the middle of the unseen-to-others amusement park. It's obvious no one is "tracking" with me on this rollercoaster idea. I was experiencing what some would call "death of a vision."

The first shelf goes up and the food starts coming off the floor.

I wonder what I should now do. As I have yet to take any photos since coming down, I decide to take a break and drive around the town.

Wow.

I hadn't really seen the town as we had only driven in on the road that led to Buzzy and Grady's and then to the school. This is a town where there is nothing left to live in or work out of. The residents, who are just beginning to return, live in tents pitched in the drying mud in what I assume were yards. Everything has been flooded or blown away or both. There are houses on the streets. One you can drive-thru, as the simplest way to reopen the street was to cut through the middle of the house sitting across it.

I take some photos, but feel uncomfortable doing so. These are people's homes. These are people's personal possessions. I feel like I'm invading their privacy. It wasn't really their intention to have everything in their home washed out onto the streets for others to take pictures of.

Later, as I walk back into the distribution center, I stop to take in the view now in front of me. More shelves have been built (and placed in the amusement park). The team is busy either building more shelves or putting things on the shelves or helping residents find what they need. The "Hope in God" t-shirts the team is wearing are soaked in sweat. Much has been accomplished today.

This photo of the stocked shelving units was taken later in the week

Then, out of nowhere, it hits. As I see the others working away, I also see that my time here is over. I have done what I was called here to do - to prepare the way for others to come. They are here. I can go home. It is a strange mixture of relief and sorrow. Relief in that I can go – I need to, it's pushing 3 weeks – and sorrow that this incredible time is about to end.

I need to work alone. I go over to my rollercoaster car, the wheelbarrow, and re-envision it. If it isn't going to be used as a rollercoaster car for kids, it can be used to deliver groceries from the distribution center to people's cars. I paint a design on the still wet blue paint and add the letters "DFH".

Jon comes by. He is finally leaving. He sees he finally can. The Bethlehem team is here, working, and committed to staying for the whole week. He thanks me.

In his relief that he can now go home, there is also a sorrow. I see it all over his face. We're in the same boat - filled with emotions going in every direction. We need to get away from here, yet we both know the needs are so great we fight the need to leave. Jon and I give each other a big hug and say good-bye. I watch as he walks away and out the door and back to Canada. It's strange. We had hardly talked, yet I fell like I have known him for years. I didn't ask for his address. I already have more addresses than I will ever be able to keep in contact with. But I will never forget him. He will always be "Canada Jon".

It's time to leave. It will soon be curfew time across the Katrina South. As others finish what they are doing, I tell Rachel I am going for a walk and that they can pick me up on the way out. It's my last day here. Tomorrow morning, I'm heading home. I need some time alone. I need some time with God.

As I walk and pray I look at what remains of once majestic trees, trees flooded by salt water, broken and stipped by the winds of the eye of a hurricane. But I'm not seeing trees. I'm seeing an awesome God – a God who can, with a "poof" from his mouth, cause majestic trees to be majestic no more.

It's strange. I remember Saturday morning in the sanctuary of Hebron Baptist reading Psalms 29:

"The voice of the Lord is over the waters... is powerful ...is full of majesty. The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars... shakes the wilderness ...strips the forests bare."

And? All cried over the destruction? No. It does conclude with crying, but of a different sort: "And ...all cry 'Glory!' "

As I look at and through these trees, with the sky behind turning the colors of the sunset, all I can see is beauty. I see an awesome God - a majestic God whose majesty trumps any majesty these trees might have ever claimed. It is as the Psalmist said. It is "Glory!"


As I walk, I see I am coming up on Buzzy and Grady's, but something's wrong. Grady is standing on the side of the road. He sees me coming. There are orange highway cones placed down the middle of the road with a chair strangely placed in the middle of the cones. Before I get there, a police car pulls up. An officer gets out, and calls Grady over. Soon another police car comes. Buzzy comes out. Heated "discussions" begin.

It seems Buzzy had set up his own speed control zone in front of his open camp ground to try to keep down the dust from passing vehicles. The most controversial part of his operation is his sitting in the chair in the middle of the street with a gun and machete. The police, it appears, do not think this is a good way to lessen the dust left from the mud left from the flood. Soon more police cars. And more. The road is now blocked by cars with flashing-lights. I, again, find myself in the middle of something I am not quite sure what or why.

As the police are "talking" with Buzzy, I talk with Grady. He is clearly concerned about what is going to happen to his friend. Grady has done jail time and knows what it is like. Grady had been a drug addict. It is Buzzy who had gotten him off it. Buzzy is his best friend.

As the rest of the team now arrives on the scene looking for me (and wondering what I am in the middle of now), and with the curfew time approaching, I know it is time to interrupt this police operation to do what I had come to do: to tell Buzzy and Grady thanks for the batteries and good-bye. As I shake Buzzy's hand I look him in the eyes and say, "Buzzy, you don't need to be doing this sort of thing." He looks back at me. It is our last words.

I walk with the others back to the waiting vehicles. It is another of-God orchestration - to leave Pearlington as I had arrived – entering the flood ravaged and frustrated lives of two Mississippi men called Buzzy and Grady.

The next day, I hear from my mom that Pearlington has been in the news all day. I look it up on the internet. The story of Pearlington and how it is being overlooked and has gotten little help is being carried across the country and around the world. There is a photo taken inside the distribution center. It was how it looked Sunday – the day we arrived. I smiled.

The world may have overlooked Pearlington, but God hadn't. And He had a plan. We were a part of it. As the sun rose that morning, as people across the country opened their newspapers to read for the first time about this overlooked town, we were, by God's orchestration, already there, in place, cooking and serving breakfast for volunteers and residents, building shelving, sorting and organizing the distribution center

...and painting a wheelbarrow.

While I believe all that we did during our time in Pearlington helped to give people hope, God used the frivolous painting of an old crusty wheelbarrow to show the need is so much more than food and shelter

The painter and his frivolous wheelbarrow

As I painted the wheelbarrow, earlier that day, a man stopped by and just starred. He looked for the longest time and finally said, "I really like that color. What is it? I'd like to paint my porch that color."

Amazing.

In a town that was up to its roofs in water, where dried mud is everywhere – inside and out – in homes, churches, cars, everything, where the landscape has turned a winter-brown in the middle of summer from the salt water, where the trees are twisted and broken, a man starts dreaming about having a front porch again ...and what color to paint it.

Earlier that day, before the death of the rollercoaster, an older man stops by and asks about the wheelbarrow. He would like to use it. I tell him about my idea for a rollercoaster for the kids. He gets this strange look on his face as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. Then his face gets brighter. He gets this big smile. He says he'll be back later with his two grandkids.

Then, a woman comes by and asks rather indignantly, "What are you doing!?"

I respond, rather sheepishly, "Painting a wheelbarrow."

"Why!?" she asked briskly.

I said, "Because it needs painting."

She pauses and looks at the wheelbarrow and asks, with a sweetened voice, "You came all the way here to paint a wheelbarrow?"

I simply nod.

A smile comes across her face. She turns and walks away.

As I think of the town, covered in drying tan mud, I think of this colorful wheelbarrow going down its streets. Frivolous? I don't think so. Joy and hope and love could all be called frivolous when the "need" is food and shelter. But man was not created to just survive on food and shelter. Less practical? Man has a spirit that needs joy and love and hope as much as the body needs food and shelter.

No government or public relief agency can meet the needs of the spirit. That is not their role. It is the role of those whose lives, whose spirits, have tapped into the Spirit of God to pour out love, joy, and hope. This is the seemingly unquenchable need.

Later, surprisingly, the woman with the sarcastic questions returns. She said she had to come over and look again. She said, "I wanted to tell you what a joy your painting this wheelbarrow has brought me. Seeing you paint this has lifted my spirit. It shows there's hope. It is what we need more of."

I didn't know what to say.

The letters "DFH" painted on the wheelbarrow? "Delivering, For Him". I was thinking groceries. God was delivering hope.

And the paint wasn't even dry.

Appendix:

I never got to use the wheelbarrow. The paint was still not dry (we may have cold winters in Minnesota, but at least our paint drys).

While the wheelbarrow never became a rollercoaster car for the kids, it did roll the streets of Pearlington.

And for one man, it played a part in bringing hope.

This photo is of a wheel barrow with the letters DFH painted on it. It is of three from Minneapolis (actually, one from Switzerland via Minneapolis) who helped a man in Pearlington haul away his ruined possessions. It is of this man standing in front of what's left of his home. And it is this one who has lost so much who is lifting high the shovel used to throw out his mud caked belongings. I would call that hope ...delivered.

Help ...and Hope

To Pearlington, As To Christ

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More photos coming

The Path To Pearlington

It's 4 AM (again). I had to look in the little box in the corner of the computer screen to see what time of what day it is. I'm sitting in one of those chairs that when you pull on the handle the foot thing comes up. If you lean back, the back of the chair falls. It was my bed for a time last night – another one of those sleep-in-your-clothes nights – 14 in a row and counting. I am now using it as a sort of reclin-o-office. My first week here I used my vehicle for my office ...and bedroom, kitchen, closet, etc. That office-bedroom-kitchen-closet-on-wheels is sitting along the side of the Interstate some 30 miles from here. It died.

My vehicle actually died 3 times yesterday. It had to. If it hadn't I wouldn't be here sitting in this recline-o-office in a church I don't know the name of in a place I don't think has a name following a trip to a town called Pearl-something. I need to find these names. I think they're going to be part of something that has a name written all over it – GOD.

Thursday, Tom Eckblad, a counselor from my home church in Minneapolis, joined me in Baton Rouge. The day was one of going to shelters and meeting with pastors and shelter workers. The evening was spent listening to an exhausted pastor (who fought tears), stopping and giving money for food to a displaced New Orleanian now sleeping on the street (who openly wept when we did), spending time with a family from New Orleans who lost everything and is now living in a shelter but desperately wants out (who one wants to weep for), and praying as we walked the top of my Louisiana mountain – the levee (symbolic of the river of tears people are working to hold back).

Yesterday, Friday, a day before the team from Bethlehem, my home church, was to arrive, we decided to drive east to see firsthand what the needs are beyond the Baton Rouge area. As we drove, first east and then south, and as the destruction increased, we came to a little church with its steeple blown off, tarps on its roofs, and its parsonage turned into a food and clothing distribution center. Having passed many churches, I, for some reason, chose to stop at this one. It was the first, and only, church we stopped at. We talked with pastors Sam and Tim, and although everything I saw in the office we were in was water damaged, they had "no needs".

We asked them if they knew of any churches or towns that were being overlooked, that were off the beaten path that needed help. They told of a town just across the border into Mississippi. As this is a town that probably would not have a place for us to stay, we asked if we could use their church. They said yes. With now a second church base to use for the team, we took off for this unknown town in Mississippi called Pearl-something ...a town just a few miles from the coast, on the Pearl River ...a town the eye of the hurricane named Katrina passed over.

As we neared the town, we turned off the 4-lane onto a narrow two-lane road that wove through what was a forest and what is now something there is no name for. It's whatever you call miles and miles of majestic trees shredded of their leaves and needles, limbs dangling, and trunks broken at all heights. The undergrowth has all died and has turned brown – killed by the salt water from the storm surge that flooded the area. The landscape makes one feel as if in a time warp – being transported from summer's greens to early winter's browns. As we make our way down the road where the fallen trees have been cut back just enough to make the road passable, Tom turns to me and says, "I think you found your back-in-the-woods, nobody's-been-here place."

As we near the town, God, as is typical with One who loves to work all things for good, does something "bad" – the car dies. I pull off the road in front of what looks like an old abandoned house that has just been through a hurricane and flood. We look around at where we are. It's a haunting landscape. There doesn't appear to be any life of any sort. There are some structures here, some of which were homes at one time. All abandoned. Nothing that looks like something one would want to live in.

I turn to Tom and say, "Of all the places to have one's car die, I don't think this is a good one." We start to laugh. It's surreal. We decide to do what anyone would do in this situation - we get out our cameras.

















Tom Eckblad, and a car that has died in a town that looks to have died

Tom tells me to pop the hood. I don't know how. I've only had the vehicle 3 weeks – never popped the hood. We look at the engine. Looks good to me – black and silver – no colors that don't work with the overall color scheme. Tom taps on the battery. Says something about when this happens in Bolivia... I didn't think we had driven that far.










Buzzy and Grady's flood ravaged homes and the "blue tarp", under which they now live

I spot a blue tarp strung between two houses. I tell Tom, "We may not be alone." It's not long and I spot a shirtless man peering at us over a broken fence. Soon a different man comes over. We explain the situation. The other man now comes over. They agree with Tom's Bolivia theory. They say they have a generator. We take the battery out and hook it up to their generator.

They invite us "in". "In" is under their blue tarp. They find some chairs and bring over a couple fans – a new experience. Sitting in the artificial breeze I declare, "I've never sat outside with a fan before!"

The shirtless man's name is "Buzzy". He's a character. He offers us iced tea or beer. The beer sounds really good (it's really hot and humid). I say the iced tea would be great. He scrounges around until he finds a couple of glasses, breaks open a bag of ice, and fills the glasses with the ice (with his bare hands which I wonder all kinds of things about).

The other guy's name is Grady. He lived in the house next to Buzzy's, which Buzzy owns. It wasn't much of a house before the storm. It is less so now. He joins us for tea.













"Buzzy's Cafe" with southern hospitality - post Katrina

This is surreal. We are sitting drinking tea under the shade of a blue tarp, cooled by the artificial breezes of two fans powered by a generator hooked to batteries, discussing life with two characters called Buzzy and Grady amidst the destroyed ruins of their homes in a literal sea of destruction that stretches as far as one can see.

The sea that caused the destruction, the Gulf of Mexico, is actually miles away. The storm surge came up the river, the Pearl River, and flooded everything up to the roofs. Homes closer to the river had their 2nd floor walls blown out by the force of the storm surge. Everything the water touched is caked in now-dried tan mud.

As we sit and talk about life they point to a tree. It's where Buzzy's daughter and son-in-law swam when the house flooded. It's where they shot two snakes and a crocodile trying to get into the tree with them. It's where they clung for 8 hours.

Buzzy talks as if he has a new-found love for his wife. He doesn't know why she stayed with him over all these years. He said he didn't deserve her. He says she's the most important person in his life. He's sincere. It's a different Buzzy than the Buzzy that's a character.

He shows us a photo of his grandparents. There is nothing left to see. He then shows us how he saved the bulk of his photo collection – he had it on CD's that he had wrapped in paper towels that he had put in zip-lock bags and then put into a tightly sealed cooler that floated in the waters. He is very proud that this worked.

Buzzy lets us look in his home. We don't go in. We look from the doorway. Everything has a coating of slimy muck on it. The computer sits in the corner on a desk where it was left – never to boot again. The sofa and other furniture is still soggy. The walls have black mold growing on them. I can see why people in New Orleans were just leaving, not waiting for the waters to recede to salvage what they can. There's not much to salvage.












Looking in the front door of Buzzy's home - still wet and with black mold growing on the walls

After about 3 hours of talking about life and what is important and what is not, we decide we need to leave. We go to put the battery back in the car. Instead of installing mine, however, they take one of theirs, one that powers their only source of power – their generator. We put mine in the car as a back-up. They refuse to take any money for anything and throw the money I stuffed into Grady's pocket back into the car. They who have lost everything are the givers. Humbling.

As we get into the vehicle, I turn to Tom and say, "Do you think the car dieing here is God's way of saying come here?" Tom doesn't have to think about it. He says a simple "Yes."

We head over to the distribution center to see if they are in any need of help. I go in, and finding a white-haired bearded guy, who looks like he might be in charge, ask if they could use any help. He looks up at me with tired eyes in a drawn face on an exhausted body and asks sarcastically, "Do we need help?"

Jon, it turns out, is from Canada. This is not even his country. He, like I, early on got sick of watching it on TV, got in his car and came down on his own to help. He didn't know where to go, he just came. He's been working with little sleep ever since. He has many stories about the government's help, about the Red Cross's involvement, about volunteers, etc. He has been running the place since he showed up. He's saddened that there has been so little help. We became instant friends.

He tells of how exhausted they are, but they can't leave because there is no one to replace them. One woman was so exhausted her husband came and had her flown out. Jon sleeps in the distribution center. He can't get away from it even to sleep.

I ask if they could use a team that could be here for a week. Jon's eyes brighten. "That would be a Godsend. It would mean I could go home". Another said, "Me too!"

As I walk back across the brown salt-water-killed grass to the car, I am overflowing with emotions. The need is so great. The help is so not here. The sense of God's timing in this is so incredible. I get in the car and simply tell Tom, "This is where we're supposed to come."

We head back to Baton Rouge ...or at least that is what we thought. God, it turns out, is putting in some overtime. The car dies. It dies somewhere before Covington. We pull over, change batteries, and take off again. A mile from Covington, the car dies again. We pull off the shoulder into the grass this time. This is as far as our batteries will get us. It's exactly where God wants us.

As there are no motel rooms available for hundreds of miles and we know no one in this part of the state, I call Jerry, a new friend in Baton Rouge. He agrees to come pick us up. We're an hour and a half away though.

As we begin our wait, a car pulls up behind us and stops. He's getting off the road for a police car headed to the accident. I think, "Interesting timing ...and a no-brainer." It would be much easier for Jerry if we were in Covington. I go and ask if he could give us a ride. He says he's only going to Covington. I say that's where we're going.

He drops us off at a chicken-something fast food. We walk up to the doors. They're locked. We read the sign: "Closing at 8PM for curfew."

It's lightening out. We need to find a place to wait for Jerry where we can get out of the coming rain. We take off walking. We find a Baskin Robbins that stays open later. We go in and take a table.

As I head to the counter to order, a guy approaches me and says, "Hi!!!" He looks familiar but I can't place him. I've never been to this town before in my life. Who is this? Another steps up and says, "Hi!!". My mind is racing. They start explaining who they are. It clicks. These are the two guys (pastors) we met earlier that day at the little church we stopped at and who had recommended we go to Pearlington ...and who said we could sleep in their church if we decided to work in Pearlington! Wow!!!

These two guys are the only two guys we have met today outside of people in Pearlington. What makes this so amazing is we are not even close to their church where we met them. We must be 30 miles the other direction. We must have driven 80 miles since meeting them. The chances of our running into them in a totally different city 30 miles from where we met, having each decided on ice cream at the same time, choosing the same ice cream place, are so profoundly low that only God could have orchestrated such.

For this to all happen, God had to work through the "bad". There needed to be three perfectly timed car deaths for us to walk into an ice cream store in a town we never planned to stop in at the same time as two guys from a church 30 miles away walk in. To top it off, these guys offer, again, the church as a place to stay along with a car to drive there as they "happen" to have driven two cars here.

God, coordinating in Covington, for His purposes in Pearlington.

I call Jerry, who was now half way here, and tell him what God has orchestrated. I could "see" Jerry smiling and shaking his head. He knows this God. He has seen Him work before in both his own life and, these past days, in mine. He turns around and heads back to Baton Rouge.

Tom and I head over to this church I can't recall the name of, in a town I don't think exists. Tom got the one mattress they have. I said I would take the reclin-o-thing. I, again, don't sleep long. There's too much to process. There's too much to write. I switch from reclin-o-bed to reclin-o-office. I hardly have to move.

That was yesterday. This is now Saturday and it is getting light outside. I stop writing and ease my way out of my reclin-o-office – it's a little tippy when in the fully reclin-o position. I head outside.

For some reason, I decide to try the doors to the church. They are, surprisingly, open. I go inside. In the front of the sanctuary is a table with an open Bible on it. It is all I see. I walk to the front of the church to see what it is open to. It is open to Psalms. The last Psalm on the pages open is Psalms 29. I read it. I need read no more. It says it all.

The psalm speaks of the glory of God. It speaks of the glory of God not in the context of wondrous sunsets or majestic mountains but, rather, in the context of a destructive storm, with floods, where trees are broken, and stripped of their leaves. It's describing an awesome hurricane with a storm surge that causes massive flooding along with winds that break and shred majestic trees to nothing. It's describing Katrina.

And, it's describing Pearlington – a flooded and mud-caked town with mangled trees and where people died. God's conclusion? "... everything says, 'Glory!' "

Hurricanes - declaring the glory of God?! Yes.

And, just as God worked for our good and for His glory through what would seem to be "bad" - the car dieing 3 times – so He works through hurricanes. We may not be able to answer all the "why?" questions or define good as He defines good or see glory where He shows glory, but we can rest in the wondrous knowledge that in His perfect wisdom and unbounded love that He does work all things for our good and for His glory.

If one's God is more awesome than the most awesome hurricane, than one's God is truly awesome ...which is glorious



God, Glory, and Hurricanes

Ascribe to the LORD, O sons of the mighty,
Ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.
Ascribe to the LORD the glory due to His name;
Worship the LORD in holy array.

The voice of the LORD is upon the waters;
The God of glory thunders,
The LORD is over many waters.
The voice of the LORD is powerful,
The voice of the LORD is majestic.
The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars;
Yes, the LORD breaks in pieces the cedars of Lebanon...
The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness...
And strips the forests bare;
And in His temple everything says, "Glory!"

The LORD sat as King at the flood;
Yes, the LORD sits as King forever.
The LORD will give strength to His people;
The LORD will bless His people with peace.

Psalms 29














Inside the Baptist church in Pearlington - flooded to its roof - the cross of Christ, symbolically, above the flood


(continued in "Help ...and Hope" (above))

Meanwhile... in Baton Rouge

Coming soon - photos from Baton Rouge

Pearlington - Images

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More photos coming