Let the good times roll: a mission trip

One view inside the massive warehouse-depot at UMCOR in Baldwin, Louisiana

              I own a new shirt, a tie-dyed one that says, on the front, Laissez les bon temps rouler. On the back is the phrase in English: “Let the good times roll. / UMCOR Sager Brown/ Baldwin, Louisiana/ www.sagerbrown.com” Down in the Cajun country of south Louisiana, and elsewhere, I suppose, the phrase is pronounced, according to the first entry in the online list, “lay-zEh leh bAwn taw rOO-leh(y).”

                And, indeed, the good times roll when teams work in the football field-sized warehouse/ depot where relief supplies roll in from United Methodist churches nationwide. Regional collection points collect items, box them up, shrink wrap them and ship to Baldwin, LA.

                At the Depot in Baldwin, volunteers, who pay room and board to spend a week in residence, unpack the boxes, go through each bag—school bags, health kits, flood buckets, layette kits, bedding kits—verifying the sent items—required by the New York office—then repacked, boxed, and stacked for shipping wherever the request for relief comes from.

                During our week, 200,000 health kits were requested by Missouri. And before we left, a call had come in for 2,000 more for Northeast Arkansas’s flood victims.

                Of the 47 volunteers last week, several worked on building a ramp for a home in Baldwin. Others walked or rode from the dorms to the Depot where we disassembled and reassembled health kits and school bags.

Gary and Cindy checking school bags for verification

My table emptied school bags, changed out unusable items, replaced them with acceptable ones, and repacked them. From our baskets, they were taken to a long table, counted, placed in cardboard boxes, then stacked on a pallet. When the pallet was full, the new, young forklift fellow transported them to the shrink-wrapping area where they were labeled and wrapped. The boxes were eventually stored in metal shelves to wait for requests.

Friendships were begun at the tables. Folks from other states—Tennessee, Alabama, Texas and Oklahoma and Arkansas—mingled. And if only your team members were working at the same table, you became better acquainted with them. I was an “adoptee” of the Jacksonville group, so I had a chance to learn more about team members. The attitude was playful, the subjects personal but universal, and opinions varied.

Meals—three a day—were other opportunities to meet new folks. Our team had twelve, and the round tables sat only eight, so some of us were forced to find another spot with other teams. That made the camaraderie of newly-made acquaintances a high point of the week. Name tags helped in remembering what face went with what name.

After-hours activities included team devotionals, jigsaw puzzle building, catching up on email and computer, playing games in the activity room. I went back to the dorm and pulled my computer out and checked blog stats and email. Of all the reading materials I took, I didn’t open even one. I only worked on last Sunday’s BIG puzzle.

Wednesday about 11:30, we were rushed from the Depot up to the main buildings: a tornado warning alarm rang and Freddy, the Depot manager, who used to be the forklift driver, hurried us out. At the cafeteria, a higher-up staff member told us a tornado touched down four miles away, and that the Depot would be closed during the afternoon. Of course, I took a long nap—my first and only of the week.

Thursday, the weather cleared off, so our work in the Depot continued. That night was the weekly Vesper Communion service. I was happy to play the electric piano during that memorable event.

Friday morning after breakfast, all teams packed cars, vans, SUVs for the long trips home. Hugs were rampant. “Maybe we’ll meet here again,” was said and heard everywhere.

After arriving home Friday evening, I went to bed early and would have slept around the clock had it not been for Greye meowing incessantly at the hall door at eight a.m.

But I’ll go again if anyone asks me to.

 c  2017 - PL dba lovepat press