Basic infrastructure in many communities, including electricity, water, sewer, gas, phone, police & fire protection, postal services and other government services was either destroyed or severely disrupted.  Churches, hospitals, schools and other buildings important to communities and people did not escape the destruction and damage. The loss was (and is) overwhelming, and some communities face years, possibly an entire generation to adequately recover.

On Thursday evening, Four days after the storm, the major news networks were still providing non-stop coverage of victims along the Gulf, especially New Orleans, still trapped in buildings, on roofs, and in trees, waiting for someone to come rescue them.  Many were being rescued by brave law enforcement, fire fighters, military and civilian volunteers, but not enough boats were on site for the many victims still trapped.  As I sat in my easy chair, in my comfortable living room, watching the images of these helpless, stranded victims waiting for someone to come to their aid, I was overcome with an urgency to get up out of my chair and do something about it.  Something within would no longer allow me to sit back and watch this suffering at arm’s length. For me, feelings of sympathy and a check to a charitable organization were no longer satisfactory.  The time for personal involvement had come. 

I thought of my son, Nathan, a professional fish guide with his large jet boat, and wondered why we couldn’t go down to the Gulf coast and be of help to the state and federal agencies involved in search-and-rescue.  Of course, questions and objections quickly surfaced:  Where do we go?  Who do we contact? Could we even get in?  As amateurs would they use us?  How long would we be there?  Where would we stay? What about the dangers?  What were the implications at my job?  And so on…   At a few key moments in my life, I have experienced a sense of inner conviction when making certain significant decisions.  This was another one of those moments when I sensed God the Holy Spirit was stirring in me.  The questions must be put aside…it was time to move. 

I called Nathan, explained what I felt we should do, was greeted by a very brief pause, then a decisive  “Sure, Dad, let’s do it.”  In a few short hours we were packed with the boat hooked up, and driving south.  We decided early on that, since seeing the reports of looting and shootings in New Orleans, we would head to Mississippi.  Calls were made to state agencies, but all circuits were busy. 

We arrived in Jackson, Mississippi on Friday morning, and decided to start at the offices of the State Highway Patrol.  We found their liaison officer to MEMA (the Mississippi version of FEMA) and followed him by car to the command center for all state and federal agencies working in the disaster emergency.  It was a frantic and chaotic hive of activity.  Accurate information was hard to come by, rumors traveled like wild fire, efforts to coordinate between all the official and volunteer agencies was reactive and haphazard at best.  A desperate man rode up on his motorcycle from one of the beach communities begging for help.  He spoke of twenty foot piles of rubble in the streets and over twenty-five bodies he had found himself that day.  Nathan and I attempted to wait patiently to meet with an official from search-and-rescue for MEMA and get our assignment and credentials.  By early afternoon we finally did meet with him, and he said he would try to contact law enforcement at one of the beach communities in an attempt to place us.  Again more waiting…. all afternoon until late in the day we were brought in to meet the Director of search and rescue efforts.  He apologized, but said they had made a decision to pull all search and rescue operations off the coast for the time being.  He could not elaborate, but we had heard rumors all afternoon of shootings and assumed the possible danger to rescue workers was a factor in the decision.  In any case, we were thanked for coming down and our willingness to help, but our services would not be needed.  I can’t tell you how deflated and foolish I felt. We came all this way for nothing.  I couldn’t help but think my convictions were nothing but impetuous emotion after all.  We had failed. 

….And then I decided to make a phone call.  Thirty years ago my wife Jacque and I had been part of an international youth missionary organization, and several of those we had worked with were still in the organization at a base in Texas.  Some of these were associated with disaster relief work, and I decided to call to see if they were doing anything in Mississippi.  In fact, they were working with the pastor of a small community church in Texas (who had formerly been a minister at a church in Gulfport, MS) whose congregation was collecting and delivering truck loads of relief supplies to the greater Gulfport area.  I was put in touch with this minister, Rev. Dwight Lawson, and as Nathan and I traveled back to Michigan, talked with him about returning to Mississippi, and working together to bring relief supplies and work parties to help as many victims as we could. 

After returning to Michigan, I asked for and received permission to make an announcement at the end of all three weekend masses at our parish (St. Bartholomew’s in Newaygo).  I asked anyone interested in learning about and supporting a relief effort to the victims of hurricane Katrina to meet me after mass.  From those meetings David Booth and George Farkas stepped forward and said they would volunteer to go down to Mississippi and provide whatever assistance they could.  Others said they would consider it at a later time, and most wanted to be kept informed of our developments.  On Monday morning, Labor Day, I met with my brother Jim Hulst and Deacon Richard Pitt from Holy Redeemer Parish in Jenison, MI to ask for their help in setting up the skeleton of an organization I was naming Project Hope & Compassion.  I needed a place for individuals interested in our efforts to be directed to call, make donations, and find out how they could volunteer.  Deacon Richard offered the use of his offices at the church and phone line for that purpose, and said he would try and help manage that part of the effort.   

Some medical, food and water supplies were located and loaded into a truck, trailer and van.  Needing one more person to help drive down, on Monday afternoon I made a call to a good friend, Mike Baxter, to see if he might have an interest and ability on the spur of the moment to travel to Mississippi.  In one hour he made the decision, and early Tuesday morning, September 6^th, the four of us set out from Michigan loaded with supplies, and headed for Gulfport, Mississippi. .  In the meantime, I called my daughter, Cynthia, in Orlando and suggested she meet us in Gulfport with her camera to document the destruction and the needs of the people.  She made a quick decision, packed and left for Gulfport at the same time we did.  Our only plans at the time were to connect with the advanced group from Texas who, with a semi-load of supplies, were also on their way to Gulfport.  Together we would attempt to bring some kind of relief to victims of hurricane Katrina. 

Arriving Wednesday morning, we met Cynthia, and the group from Texas.  We took a quick tour of the devastation in and around Gulfport.  We met Steve Ewing, the head of an organization called “Compassion Alliance”, at their large distribution site in the parking lot of the biggest mall in Gulfport.  With the help of FEMA and the National Guard, this faith-based consortium of several groups were unloading 40-50 semi-truck loads of supplies per day and distributing them into vehicles by the thousands as they passed in rapid succession.  At the time we had no distribution site of our own, so offered to send volunteers to help his organization as they came available.  Our evening was spent with our Texas friends in the homes of locals (a generator providing for some limited power for water, cooking and refrigeration) and learning all we could about the plight of the people. 

On Thursday, our group divided in two.  Cynthia and I went into Gulfport to be introduced to two other faith-based groups, and see if we could establish with one of the groups a joint base of operations.  Dave, Mike and George followed the semi-truck driver from Texas to find a location for distributing the relief supplies.  The groups Cynthia and I met with were polite and sympathetic, but already had more than they could handle.  We would therefore have to find some place on our own from which to base volunteers. We returned to our lodgings a little discouraged.  In the meantime, the supply group was unable to distribute supplies at the location originally selected, due to clean-up and the beginning of reconstruction at the site.  Instead, the Texas driver, for no apparent reason, began driving west on Highway 53 (just north of Gulfport) into the rural area.  He drove more than 8 miles, passing several churches and other locations that would seemingly have been more than adequate for supply distribution.  When he came to the little burg of Lizana (with one store and one car-wash), he wheeled into the driveway of a small Catholic church called St. Ann.  He thought there might be some location in the community for distributing the supplies.  Dave Booth spotted a nearby fire department and went to inquire about their parking lot.  With no luck at finding anyone, Dave returned to the church only to find the supply trucks completely surrounded by passing vehicles, and our volunteers busy handing out food, water and the other supplies we had brought.  In just 3-4 hours, the large load of supplies was completely gone. 

Watching all this from outside the church offices was Karen Parker, devoted parishioner and “go to” person at St. Ann who was lamenting the damage done to her church and wondering how it would all get cleaned up and repaired again.  She was intrigued by what was happening in front of her church, and decided to introduce herself to Mike, George and Dave.  “Are any of you folks Catholic?  All of the members of my parish have damage or losses of their own and are not able to help me clean up this little church, and our diocese will not have the money to help fix up St. Ann..  Will you please adopt us and help us clean up?”  After showing Mike the building, she made an offer of a place to stay and operate from.  With that, our group thanked her and returned to camp.  The whole story was relayed to the rest of us at camp, but the offer to base at St. Ann got lost to me in the telling. 

On Friday we learned that another large group of volunteers was due to arrive at our lodgings from Texas the next day, and we decided it was important to move our operation elsewhere.  Mike, Dave & George reminded me about the offer of St. Ann, but I still did not take it seriously.  I thought it would be worthwhile, however, to get the contact information for St. Ann so we could take it back to Michigan, and see if some Catholic churches might adopt St. Ann to offer assistance.  Dave came along to show Cynthia and me the way.  When we arrived, Joey Lind, another parish member, was outside the parish hall surveying damage and cleaning up.   Dave asked where the lady was that he’d met the day before.  Joey called Karen on his cell phone, asking that she come to St. Ann right away.  We were all introduced and we began to explain who we were and why we had come to Mississippi: to set up a base of operations that other volunteers could come to, and from there assist the local people in their time of need.  Karen said flatly, “Why don’t you stay here and use our facilities?  All I ask is that you help us with some clean up and repairs to the church, and help the people of our community.”  She took us on a tour of the parish hall, and I thought it could not be a more perfect place:  spacious room for cots and sleeping bags, commercial kitchen, large bathrooms, lots of modern folding tables and chairs, and a beautiful church to pray in.  Had God directed the Texas driver here, so we could find this facility and make this the home of Project Hope and Compassion?  The realization of this struck me, humbled me, and coupled with the exhaustion of the past eight days, caused me to weep with tears of joy and awe.  How very good and present was our God, to look on the suffering of his people and hear their cries. 

The four of us immediately held hands around the table, thanked God for his goodness and mercy, and asked Him to guide us in whatever was to happen from this place in the days to come.  The seeds of friendship and love with the people of St. Ann and the community were planted that day.  Karen called the pastor of St. Ann, Fr. Peter Mockler, who was in Ireland with family, to explain what had transpired and ask his blessing.  Without knowing who we were, but trusting that God had brought us, he gave his support.  That was ten weeks ago.  In the days that have followed, Fr. Peter returned and became a full partner and supporter in the work.  Camp Hope (the affectionate name for our continuing base of operation with St. Ann) has been witness to many miracles: scores of volunteers have come, many truckloads of supplies showing up, financial donations made, acts of compassion extended, bridges built between people of different religious faiths, those away from their faith returning, values and priorities re-arranged, and hope restored to many victims.  By God’s grace, and with His help, we shall continue to offer ourselves in service to all those who come to us in need.