because we´re still talking about Katrina

I wrote this reflection awhile back after listening to a podcast about Memorial Baptist Hospital during Hurricane Katrina. It was a strange experience... listening, learning and remembering such a familiar, intimate memory from an outsider, foreigner, non-New Orleanian... hit me with some weird feelings
So I prayed to God for the gift of tears

As we´re remembering once again this time of year, I thought I´d share how I recently remembered this event. It´s honest and unsure and unfinished.
It´s my prayer

And the Tears Don´t Come

I wanted to cry, but I couldn´t cry

I wanted to break down and cry over the trauma and hurt that happened to MY HOME,
and I couldn´t
Because I am/was so far removed. Protected. Bubbled. Lucky. Blessed.
I am priveleged.
So much so that now when I want tearws of solidarity to well up adn overflow to honor the memory of those we´ve lost and partake in the suffering of my people...
The tears don´t come
I´m grasping for a kinship with a people who aren´t my own.
My New Orleans is not their New Orleans.
My Katrina is not their Katrina.

Now that I´m 12 years older
and just a little wiser
I see and hear this traume

in ways I could not understand

when it was actually happening to me

I want to know and love my home.
I want to share in my community
I want to participate in an active history

But the tears don´t come
And I feel like a stranger

Amen.