It sat in the corner of the house, like a coffin in a dark viewing room. It was bought for thousands of dollars, but when the waters came and rose and filled the house like an empty bowl, it went to ruin. The house was submerged in thirty minutes, and the television, along with everything else, would forever be useless.
We charged into the house, trepid, intimidated, frightened. Debris lined the floor, and our job was to remove it from the house just outside of New Orleans. Katrina did her worse, and there were few to provide relief.
Twice we ventured to the coast to assist in the efforts. I was reminded of those trips this week when watching a slanted program on the History Channel about Katrina and New Orleans, and the thousands of possibilities for future storms. The program wanted to lean to the side of rising global temperatures as the cause of major hurricanes, and whether that is true or not is irrelevant to me. Katrina was much bigger than the supposed rise in temps.
I took some pictures. Take a look.
These two trips changed my life. It is a tough thing to walk into a home, once filled with possessions of such great value and importance and cost, and then to see these things destroyed. I am grateful for what I have, for what I own, but what I learned, in the end, is that I am the one that really assigns value. Outside of my home, the things I own would mean very little.
And that is a great starting point for release and freedom.