Gulfport RePost- Day Four: I am a tar-baby

12/19

as i write this, i'm sitting in the stairway just around the corner from where the girls are sleeping, typing in the dark so i don't wake them. through the window i can hear one of the most beautiful rains i've ever been in. big, heavy drops in a warm and still night. and i'm thinking about that roof that won't be finished tomorrow because of it, and i'm getting frustrated all over again.

it's been one of those days. we finished one of 5 flat sides of the roof, and it was one of the most satisfying things i've ever done. then we started on the next piece. and then, when that was done, the next one. so thrilling to be making such progress... but today was our last day working, and we didn't finish. i knew climbing up the ladder this morning that there was no way we would finish, but as the sun started sinking into the horizon and the shadows started inching towards just being dusk... no matter how quickly i worked the nail gun, and how much i tore up my knees moving across the shingles, there was nothing i could do but leave it unfinished. frustrating.

but, alternating with the frustration and gaining a lot of ground is the sense of satisfaction with a job well done, if not completely done. i was born to be a perfectionist (it's in the genes), and i can't seem to even make a peanut butter sandwich without smoothing and resmoothing and smoothing again. but, as i raced against the clock, i was forced to accept the limits of what was possible. at the end of the day, i had to hand the job over to the next group. i had no choice. and that was a little liberating. these aching arms and shoulders, these bruised knees and splintery fingers, and this huge and painful bruise on my upper thigh (there's and amusing story that goes with it) are all that i am able to give here and now.

driving back from the site, after packing up our tools and preparing the site for the eventual rain, i stared out the window at the houses as we passed. and perhaps the lesson in all of this is that making a difference doesn't mean fixing the problem. i can't be attached to that either. here's nothing i can do about the houses that are piles of rubble. there's nothing i can do about the FEMA trailers or the empty lots or the desperate spraypaint begging thieves and squatters to stay out of these places that once were homes. nothing i can do today, at least.

i feel like i'm missing something important here. there's a thought or a piece that i can't quite grasp...

tomorrow we take a final tour of Gulfport and then drive down the coast to New Orleans. once again, i don't know what to expect.

"she's my heart," said the grateful woman about her granddaughter, who was born two weeks after the storm. "she's just my heart."