Images flicker in the glare of my glasses as I tear through webpage after webpage, my eyes occasionally beginning to water before I force the tears back. There’s so much carnage, everywhere…what on Earth is going on?

I fired off frantic emails to my parents. One set of grandparents lived in New Orleans, the other in Biloxi, Mississippi. Were they all right? What on Earth is going on?

My new home, Houston, takes in thousands of refugees. My friends work through the night, volunteering, organizing, donating, helping any way they can. My university even offers temporary enrollment to some of those that have been displaced from their education.

Finally, a sigh of relief. Everyone’s all right. Houses flooded, perhaps demolished, but they left well in advance of the hurricane. God be praised.

There’s no classes this week in Dunedin, no friends left in town, nothing to take my mind off the devastation left by an oversized rainstorm halfway around the world. I read as many articles as can be found, talk to any friends who are willing to give me news. But there’s a growing discontinuity: as the media focuses more and more on the chaotic conditions, my friends and family speak increasingly with wonder and awe in their voices, as a virtual army descends upon Houston and the South, not to invade, not to kill, not to wage war, but to give of themselves. Their battle ahead is not for their sakes, but for the sakes of others. I wish with all of my heart that I could be alongside with them; in my absence, all I can do is stand and applaud.

To those of you that have helped and continue to help the Katrina refugees—in whatever way—I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Though pictures of a warzone continue to haunt our screens, I wish to pause for a moment and look upon those that work tirelessly to help, not hurt. Normalcy may for now just be a word in Louisiana and Mississippi, but because of your efforts, at least it remains in our vocabulary. Again, thank you, thank you, a thousand times, I thank you all.