When I was working in New Orleans, one of my jobs was to drive to the homes of disaster victims who had requested emergency housing to see where the FEMA trailer could fit on the property. At one home in Gentilly, my coworkers and I arrived at the house at about the same time as the homeowner. The homeowners asked if I had seen the inside of any flooded houses. I said no, and he motioned for me to follow him. He unlocked the door and we walked into the living room. The walls were covered in mold and mildew. The owner pointed out that the mold stopped right below a large white cross he had on the wall. We both paused, taking in the moment. I wondered what significance this could have. I knew it was meaningful to him and perhaps one had to seek some kind of sign, some indication that God was present, even in the midst of so much devastation. We then proceeded to peek into other rooms – the water had come through and swirled his belongings like a washing machine – large, heavy pieces of furniture were upended and belongings were strewn everywhere.
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