On the Road to Providence
October 21, 2008
Recently some ministers were discussing mistakes they had made but that some good came out of the mistake. Following the devastation of hurricane Katrina around 145,000 evacuees had come to Houston. I had volunteered to be one of the overnight chaplains in one of the major shelters. I would arrive around 9 p.m. and would stay until 6 a.m.
Most nights I would simply help with clean up and some processing and occasionally would meet with someone in the makeshift chapel. However, most nights were spent simply walking among the people sleeping on air mattresses, answering questions, providing requested items but mostly just trying to keep things quiet. Occasionally some of the more rambunctious teenagers would have to be reminded that others were sleeping and to please move their activities to designated recreation areas. Once I had to help retrieve five air mattresses from a man who was hoarding them.
One night I heard a child crying and went over to investigate. I found three children, two boys and a girl, all less than 4 years old. The young girl was crying because her two brothers were teasing her. There was a fourth child, a boy around 10 or 11, who was trying to quiet down the young girl. I asked them to please be quiet as it was late at night and there were others who were trying to sleep. Looking at the older boy, I sternly asked him, “Where are your parents?” He did not answer; he just gave me this deep, mournful stare.
It was at that moment when I realized I had wandered into the protected area reserved for women alone and children who could not locate their parents. For several uncomfortable seconds I stood there realizing I may have just asked a newly orphaned child the cruelest question anyone could ask. Finally the boy broke the gaze by looking down and breathing a deep sigh. “Can I help?” I asked him, trying to make up for my insensitivity. He did not answer, just simply handed me a storybook. So I sat down and read stories to his siblings until they all fell asleep.
A security guard came by, saw my volunteer shirt and clergy collar and moved on. Later that night I met the guard and he thanked me for what I had done with the kids. He said they had arrived on the first busload with no information as to where they lived or where their parents had gone. “All of us have been trying to do what we could,” he informed me, “but we don’t have much hope of finding their parents. Boy, I wouldn’t want to have your job.” Until that moment I never realized how important and fulfilling what I was doing was.
Five days later, when the shelter was being emptied due to the approaching hurricane Rita, I could not locate the children. The security guard said they had not been there at the start of his shift. I don’t know what ultimately happened to the children, whether their parents found them or if they had been placed elsewhere, but I have always hoped they found peace and security. And I was grateful I helped when I could.
~Rev. José Ballester
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