I met our friend Lori Pritchett at the gate of Sam Houston Jones State Park.

She was coming up to see Sandy, Youk, and I one last time at the park before our project was to finish and we’d have to head out of town.  As we drove back to where the RV was parked, Lori was overcome with emotion.  She started crying as we drove through the park where so many fond memories were made for her, her family, and friends.

She just kept saying, “Oh my God, this is terrible Dan.  Where are all of the trees?”

Then, still battling the tears, she started to say, “…but how wonderful is it that all of you are here to help us.”

When we first arrived at Sam Houston Jones State Park in Lake Charles, Louisiana, we could see that the park had been severely damaged by the two hurricanes that came through the area back in the late summer of 2020.  We were told that 90% of the trees in the park had been destroyed.  Although I had heard that statistic many times since the project had started, I’m not sure that it really hit me until that short ride with Lori.

Even with every time that one of the churches or community groups would come in to feed us, the people would all tell us the same thing.  Yet still, I don’t think that I was really able to comprehend the extent of damage until I heard it from Lori.  Not that I didn’t believe the other people from the community.  I guess it’s just that when you hear it from someone near and dear to you, it’s only then that it really hits home.  The raw emotion of that moment is something that I won’t soon forget.

We stopped and I introduced Lori to several of the other volunteers in our group.  The gratitude in her voice for the effort that we were putting into her community was genuine and touching.  She thanked everyone that I introduced her to.

We walked around our camping area a little bit and she reminisced about running at the park, competing in triathlons, and swimming in the murky river water during those triathlons.

As she saw some of the improvements that were being made to the park, her mood slowly shifted from sadness to optimism.  We agreed that the next time that we come to Lake Charles, we’ll stay in the park and she was going to rent one of the beautiful, newly constructed cabins.

As I reflect on our visit with Lori that day, I recognize that all things that are beautiful are not the same.

Equally, sometimes, some of those things that are beautiful can change, yet they’re still beautiful, just in a different way.

That’s what I think of when I recall our time in Sam Houston Jones State Park.

This was a beautiful state park that was lush with trees and wildlife.  It was absolutely demolished by two hurricanes in 2020.  It’s going to be a beautiful state park again soon, just a different kind of beautiful than what it once was.  It will have a different kind of shine on it than what it did before.

There will be a brand-new boardwalk/fishing pier along the river, new tent pads in the campground, a new fence at the entrance, and new cabins, just to mention a few things.

This park will make wonderful new memories for many generations to come in this community.  The old memories and the old beauty will still remain in the minds of those who made memories there.  Their future visits may be bittersweet at first.  They may cry tears of sadness when they first arrive for what was lost, but then those tears will turn to tears of joy and gratitude for what they’ve gained.  Just like Lori’s did during her visit.

I knew going into this project that it may be emotional for Sandy and I.  Because of our friends that are like family in that community.  Because of the work that we did in that community back in 2020 in between the two storms.  Sometimes it’s difficult to put those emotions into words, whether verbal or written.  It has taken me quite some time to write this because I’ve been searching for the right words.  It’s been almost a month since we left Sam Houston Jones State Park and I’m just now able to attempt to articulate those emotions properly.

I want to properly convey how much that community was hurt in 2020, but I want to make sure that my readers don’t feel sorry for those in that community.  I say that because that community doesn’t need pity.  It is a proud and resilient community.  They are grateful for every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears that groups like ours have given to them in order for them to get back on their feet.  They still need help, there is still work to be done.  They’ll do the same for another community that needs it in the future if another storm wreaks similar havoc.

Isn’t that what we’re all supposed to be doing as humans anyway?  Helping each other up when we get knocked down.  Lending a hand when we can.  Doing whatever we can with whatever we have to make the world a better place.  It doesn’t have to be much.  It can be little acts of kindness that leave positive ripple effects that go on forever.  It’s just paying it forward.  Helping others without ever expecting anything in return.

The other thing that I think about when I call to mind our involvement at Sam Houston Jones is how it has been a metaphor of life.

We all go through storms in our own lives.  Rarely do we come through those storms the same way as when we went into them.  Many times, we need a helping hand from someone else on the other side of those storms.  That help may come from a friend or a stranger.  Receiving that help doesn’t make us weak or pitiful, it just makes us human.

We’ll never be the same after those storms, however, that doesn’t make us any less beautiful, it just makes us a different kind of beautiful.