As other college students left for sunny beaches and under-age binge drinking, I drove to New Orleans with members of Habitat for Humanity and helped build a house.

I never met the volunteers who laid the cement foundation. I never shook the hands of those who framed the walls.

Our chapter hung drywall. We painted ceilings. We assembled a small tool shed in the back yard. Two brave volunteers donned denim coveralls and insulated the attic in 90-degree heat and humidity.

After a week of sweating in the southern sun, this modest house became our house. The grateful young couple and their shy children became our family.

The Habitat for Humanity coordinator, Miss Emily Diamond was soft-spoken and generous. She’d charm you into an extra hour of labor then feed you the most delicious barbeque sandwiches you ever tasted. On our last day, she called us into the front yard to thank us for our service. As we stood in a circle, holding hands, she lead us in a small prayer.

“Dear Lord, it is such a blessing that we could come to know you and each other. Please protect all who enter our house and our hearts.”

Being a stubborn agnostic, I’m not really a praying kind of person. But, as we see the suffering along the Gulf Coast, I hope that our house is still standing. I hope against hope it kept our family safe.

Thanks for humoring this gardening diversion. Cukes and corn have been the last things on my mind. If you’d like to donate to the American Red Cross, click here.

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