Casa Jonsson

As it was for many Houstonians, today was a rollercoaster of a day for Casa Jonsson. And several things happened today that have caused me to reappraise what went on in New Orleans in the days before and after Hurricane Katrina struck.

With Hurricane Rita bearing down on us as a category-five storm, I took the day off today to help my father-in-law board up his house and my own. (Traffic in Houston was so horrendous that I might not have made it in to the office anyway, even if I’d planned to.) Late this morning we received a call from Araceli’s Uncle Wes in Dallas who’s a pilot and has friends in aviation. He made the extravagant offer of sending a friend in a private plane to the municipal airport near our house to shuttle Araceli and the kids up to Dallas; he wanted them to stay with his family till Rita blows over. We were bowled over by this and took only a few minutes to pray and consider it. As much as the thought of being apart for an uncertain number of days did not appeal to us, we liked the idea of shielding the kids from the spectre of a noisy storm. So we took Wes up on it. The plane was to arrive and depart early tomorrow morning. Later today, weather advisories forced the flight plan to shift to tonight. Then, just before the plane was to depart for Houston, the airport was closed to civilian use until further notice; the emergency management muckety-mucks want to start staging personnel and supplies to the region through this regional airport, or something like that. So all of us will be here to give Rita a hometown Houston howdy after all.

This magnanimous offer of a personal airlift was only one of half a dozen offers of transportation and hospitality we received today and yesterday from friends and family. We’ve been overwhelmed by God’s kindness to us in surrounding us with people who love us far beyond what we deserve.

I found two things revealing in this experience. First, Araceli’s and my initial reaction to the possibility of leaving town, even in such a painless fashion, was negative. Even though a monster of a cyclone was breathing down our necks we didn’t really want to leave! Beyond the stress and inconvenience of pulling up stakes with only the essentials in tow, I discovered to my surprise that there’s something inside that says Stay even if common sense says Go.

Second, almost none of these numerous offers of travel assistance—though well-intentioned, well-planned and well-financed—ultimately panned out. Many of our friends who tried to leave town are still at home now because the city’s outbound arteries are frozen solid with thousands of cars that have run out of gas in the gridlock. A gift of commercial plane tickets and the private plane ride were both ultimately useless to us because all the airports were either inaccessible or closed.

What does this have to do with New Orleans? Simply this. I do have sympathy for the poor, elderly and disabled people that got left to fend for themselves without a way out of that ruined city, and I’m delighted to see the outpouring of hospitality and generosity that Baton Rouge and Houston, among other cities, have shown toward the victims. But if I’m honest with myself I have to admit to sometimes mentally broadbrushing hurricane victims as foolhardy when I hear about the hold-outs who refuse a Coast Guard rescue when it comes, or who stay put when the order to evacuate is issued.

What happened to us today has dredged up some things I didn’t want to admit about how I view people in need. If I, who in comparison with those New Orleanians am rich and have friends in high places (literally), find myself unable to overcome personal inclinations and providential hinderances to fleeing Hurricane Rita, how much should I hold people responsible for their fate who are poor and voiceless and who found themselves in the path of Hurricane Katrina?