I leaned against the wooden panels of the wall, stripping the white foamy mask from my face to breathe in some fresh air. I had spent the entire morning ripping out nails from the torn house, and I was exhausted. My sweaty orange shirt was full of dust particles and my hair smelled like mold. I peeked outside the stripped-down window, where my teammates were throwing out dry wall, ruined furniture and random broken objects. The home we were stationed at was one of the 4,460 homes affected by the recent flood in Orange County. Half of my team and I were assigned to clean out Jasper's house. Some tore down walls, others ripped out floors, and I.... I removed nails.
"What am I doing here?" I wiped the sweat off my forehead. I remembered the call only four days earlier. As part of a disaster relief program at my school, LU Send NOW, I was asked to join a team of other student volunteers to fly to Deweyville, Texas, where we would serve alongside Samaritan's Purse. I was so pumped. I had already been thinking about Texas weeks before they called me, so I knew I was going for a specific purpose. Yet, there I was, flicking nail number 1274 on the floor.
What am I doing here?
I pushed the thought aside for the next day and a half, working where they asked me to work, though the roles were small. I slowly gave up the thought that I was going to be a part of something great. But then something happened.
Day three came by, and half of our group got asked to stay back as the others went on to the next work site. Our job was to finish cleaning up the second home across the street, where the other half of our team had worked the past two days.
I went in and waited for my teammates to get some tools, and I saw one of the homeowners outside. Miss Lucy, a little sixty year old lady. She was carrying a few plants, and asked me to sit with her on her patio. I asked her about her day, the plants, and eventually, the day the flood happened. The afternoon sun reflected on her rosy cheeks, and she looked up at the oak tree swinging its branches above us.
"When it happened, we didn't know what we were going to do..." She sighed and gently closed her eyes. The wind blew and we could hear the leaves of the tree mingle above.
"But when you all showed up, I knew things were going to be better." I took her words in, and remembered my inner complaints the day before. Something in the air was shifting, and in my heart, too.
Her eyes mirrored the bright blue sky, and something in them gleamed a truth I so desperately need to embrace: it's not about me.
This trip wasn't about me. This trip wasn't about my team. This trip wasn't about how many nails I removed, or how many floors we ripped out, or how many work sites we completed. This was about something much greater and much truer. This was about that something that keeps reminding me of why I can breathe and run and help and heal.
I looked at Miss Lucy, who still staring at the sky, quietly spoke the words that weeks later, keep ringing in my mind:
"I think people need to look up more. I think more people need to hope."
