The moon lit the Mississippi Sound, turning its inky blackness into a calm, slate gray. Four and a half years ago, that same calm water declared war on the land, leaving a lasting scar upon it. Standing on the staircase of a home that had been destroyed that day and rebuilt, I was about to give a speech to many of the men and women who had led the effort rebuild the Mississippi Gulf Coast. It was a speech about giving. And about hope.
Who was I to talk to them about the power of giving?
It was United Way Tocqueville event, an event to honor the top donors to the South Mississippi United Way. I was introduced by William Yates, the man who built and rebuilt the Beau Rivage.. And then I spoke. And spoke a little more.
As words poured out of my mouth, my mind thought of nearly five years ago.
A half-mile down the road sits an empty lot. It’s a lot I helped clear with a team from Camp Coast Care: That lot is sacred ground to me. It had been a home that had survived Camille. Nearly 40 feet of water reduced it to debris. Today, it’s overgrown with weeds and vines. But around it, new homes are springing up like mushrooms. Recovery is transitioning to everyday life.
Two weeks before Katrina, we vacationed at the the smaller of two Casino hotel buildings in Bay St. Louis. That building is now gone (the bigger tower has been rebuilt and is beautiful). The one we stayed in had to be razed after 26 feet of water wiped out two thirds of its floors. I remember that trip like it was yesterday: My wife and I drive down Beach Blvd and I remember telling her, “These houses would be perfect to own. They never got water during Camille.” The house I was standing was one of those homes. Water blew out the first floor. Today it is more beautiful than ever.
I finished my 15-minutes speech about hope and realized that I was preaching to the choir. These folks faced Hell and spit in its face. If it hadn’t been for their hope, the light of the Coast would have flickered out a long time ago.
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