by May Jones (bio)
In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, I suffered a little bit from survivor's guilt. Here on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, we watched on our fully-powered televisions in our well-lit living rooms as our downtown neighbors lost all power. Then, the next day, we saw the horrific scenes of homes on fire, coastlines obliterated, and cars completely underwater. We felt relieved, of course, but also somewhat helpless. So
close, yet so far away. Some displaced families were brought up to live in our schools and we were able to provide a bit of relief in the way of clothing and toys, but we still wanted to do more. We started collecting donations to send in vans out to the hard-hit coastal areas of New York. Then, two weekends ago, thanks to
Mormons Helping Hands, we got to go out to the Rockaways ourselves to pitch in.
On Sunday morning, bright and early, my step dad and I drove out to Plainview, NY, to a stake center there. When we walked into the cultural hall, about a hundred members of the Nashua, New Hampshire stake were sitting in folding chairs singing
I Know That My Redeemer Lives. Everyone was wearing work boots and jeans and sweatshirts and several people had on bright yellow shirts or jerseys inscribed with the Mormon
Helping Hands logo. The early morning sacrament meeting service consisted of the passing of the sacrament, a stake counselor reading a few scriptures, and then testimonies offered by those who had been out to the site the day before. We finished by singing
Called to Serve. It was one of the most memorable Sunday morning services I've ever attended.
Afterward, we got our team assignments and drove out to Belle Harbor in the Rockaways in Queens. Other stakes met us there, including my own, as well as other non-member friends who wanted to help. Our team was assigned to two missionaries, who led us to our first house. I saw many missionaries throughout the day, with their name tags pinned to the front of their jerseys. They have been working day in and day out for the past three weeks and I wished their parents could have seen them out there.
My first impression of the area was that it felt like a war zone. Large trucks barricaded the ends of streets and piles of debris were everywhere. At our first house, we transported water damaged belongings sorted into huge piles in the backyard to the dumpster across the street. The homeowner shared with us his feelings of being overwhelmed at having to basically sort through his whole life and try to figure out how to replace it. And all with no power. Every time his wife came outside, she repeated, "Thank you so much, thank you so so much." With our team of ten, we were able to clean up the backyard in less than an hour. I know that if it had been my
house, I would have gone out and stared at that pile for days, just trying to figure out where to start. I was happy that we relieved them of that burden, at least.
