Biloxi

One of my fondest travel experiences was a mission trip to Biloxi, Mississippi. My church just started sending youth groups annually to various parts of the country to refurbish houses for those in need. The year before we’d gone to Hazard, Kentucky. It was a life-changing experience. And so, naturally, I expected nothing less from this trip. The trip has stuck with me every since. I think of what I saw and learned there, often.

The mission we worked with had a wonderful facility. There was a main house for meals, a bathhouse, a men’s dorm, and a women’s dorm. The first night we met our two site managers. They gave us a tour and went over our schedule for the week. We were split in two groups for the two locations we were working on: Mrs. Baker’s house and Mr. White’s house.  I was placed on Mr. White’s group.

The next morning we drove to our designated site to begin work. The neighborhood was worn down and a little rough. The road Mr. White’s house was on had houses on one side and a working railroad track on the other. His house was a small, one story building. It couldn’t have been more than one or two rooms, but I never did step foot inside. It looked decent from the front. It was explained to us that the front of the house was recently completed and we were to begin work in the back.

The backyard was heart breaking. We entered through a fence by the side of the house. Three dogs started to bark at us. Two were in a large kennel and one was tied up by a doghouse. The lawn was replaced by mud and dirt. Nails and garbage littered the yard. The siding was hanging off the house. The steps from the back door were completely missing. Quickly, we were introduced to the fleas and mosquitoes that were present as well. This was going to be a tough week.

By the second day, it was clear that not everyone in our group could work in these conditions. Nearly half hour group asked to be switched to Mrs. Baker’s house. And I was the only female who stayed.

Regardless of the conditions and the small number of workers, we managed to complete the project; which made the celebrations all that much better.

At the end of the week our site managers prepared us a traditional shrimp boil. They covered the tables in newspaper and brought big old garbage cans in for the throwaway bits. The shrimp were whole and corn was perfect. The spices were full and the hot meal was welcomed even on the hot summer night. It was delicious.

At the shrimp boil we were asked to attend a large worship service at the tabernacle before we left for home. This was a deep south, “Praise the Lord”, kind of service that our group was not accustomed to. The experience was wonderful, until the invited us to the pulpit to sing. We literally had church members yelling at us to “feel the Lord.” I thought I was. As members of my group started to sway with the music and clap, the members of the tabernacle started to shout their “Alleluia’s”.

It still surprises me how vastly different and beautiful our country is. The conditions of Southern poor can make you look away, but the deep customs in their food and the passion in their faith awakens your senses. I think this trip has stuck with me because of just that.