I had a choice to make. But the choice was NOT whether or not to help the Katrina evacuees. That choice had already been made. Why else would I be out at Spring Lake Baptist Camp? Just going there was a public declaration of my willingness to support the evacuee effort, and not without some risk of criticism. You see, the reaction of our community was split. A lot of folks felt sorry for "those poor people" and wanted to help. There was much talk about what he or she would donate and many of the offers were quite generous money, clothing, and medical attention.
But secretly, there was a segment of the community who was fearful about the character of the people who were coming up here from "sinful" New Orleans. Whispers were exchanged at the donut shop and the grocery store.
"You know how THOSE people are. We dont need the likes of them in our community."
Some even insinuated that Katrina was a long overdue judgement, sent from God for the destruction of an ungodly place, and therefore, they had no reason to extend a helping arm to the very people whom the Lord had chosen to judge.
I thought that this kind of talk was foolishness. Katrina destroyed bars and banks, casinos and churches without discrimination. The innocent child and the chronic sinner died together. So I jumped on the donation bandwagon, instead. I headed straight to the discount store to buy stuff to take to the camp. Feeling pretty proud of myself because I had thought to call ahead to ask what was needed, I stuffed my van full with every Styrofoam cup and plate on the shelf of our little Freds store. With excitement, I headed out to see firsthand what was going on out there at the camp. This was history in the making! Maybe, if I was lucky, I would get a chance to talk to some of the evacuees and they would tell me their incredible survival stories.
While I had chosen to be sympathetic to Katrina evacuees and express my concern with a monetary donation, I was facing a deeper spiritual choice. The decision I was facing was whether or not to get personally involved. Sympathy and concern are two emotions that are as disposable as Styrofoam cups and plates! But true love and compassion are bought with a higher price. They take time and commitment. They come with a risk as well. What if the whisperers at the grocery store were right? What kind of people WERE these evacuees?
I stopped for just an instant to ponder my choices. Which direction should I go? I could either take the easy stroll down the hill to my waiting van and leave Spring Lake and the evacuees behind, having done my duty. Or I could turn around, step out of my comfort zone, climb up the hill and get personally involved in the life of a stranger.
Behind me I could hear the sound of the "Slap, slap" continuing down the other side of the hill.