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BY JOYE JONES

I stepped out from under the bright red-and-white striped tent to look at the beautiful beach ? white sand, waves lapping gently against the shoreline.

Two boys played in the water beneath a sign warning, 'Storm Debris. Keep out of the water.'

'Last summer, you wouldn?t have been able to cross the highway here; too many cars,' VIM team member Jason Griffin told me. He?s from Mississippi.

I?d just finished lunch at God?s Katrina Kitchen, a tent ministry on the edge of the destruction. The rest of the VIM team ? 21 in all, three from Good Shepherd UMC in Silver Spring, the rest from Metropolitan Memorial UMC in the District ? is finishing up. It?s nearly time to load up the vans and head back to St. Paul UMC in Pass Christian, Miss.

We?d been here two days, working inside the church. It?s hot, very hot, with humidity to match. The church stands on Clark Ave., a street devoid of other intact structures. From the outside, it looks fine. Inside there is evidence of destruction.

Other groups had cleaned up and done the framing with 2x4s, put up sheetrock in the sanctuary, built the frame for the chancel, created a movable scaffold for ceiling work. The windows are new. The side porch is new. There is no electricity. We run two 100-foot-long, extension cords from the utility pole outside. They are our only source of power for everything, including the life-saving fans.

Day one: Insulation, which is terribly itchy in the heat. Long sleeves, long pants, gloves, masks, eye-guards, head covering. Take a cool shower to get the insulation off; a warm shower drives it into your open pores.

Days two, three, four and five follow with sheet rocking, scaffolding, nail holes, screw-heads, dimples and flaws.

There?s a leak in the roof. Craig Scherer and Pat McConnell know what they?re doing so, in the heat, they?re on the hot roof ripping out old shingles, putting in new. The frozen bottles of water that last all day in the cooler melt in 20 minutes on the roof. Craig comes down and soaks his hat in the ice melt from the cooler.

At the end of each day, it?s back to Mt. Zion UMC in Delisle for a shower. Heaven is a shower. I think about the folks after the storm. In the heat. Going for days without a shower. Misery piled on top of misery. Thank God for the little things, the things we forget to be thankful for. Like showers. And fans. And big things, like the members of St. Paul?s who prepare dinner for us every night.

I?d heard the stories, seen the pictures. I wasn?t prepared. There wasn?t a lot of debris where we were. There wasn?t a lot of anything. The shock was the emptiness. Houses ? gone. Lots ? empty.

Drive along what looks like a fallow field and then you realize this isn?t a field. There used to be houses here. The weeds have grown up to cover the foundation slabs. The occasional stairs to nowhere mark the spot where there once was a front porch. The fine old mansions along US 90 were destroyed or demolished or falling down.

Across from a damaged Baptist church is a bathtub chained to a tree in an otherwise empty lot. FEMA trailers in yards ? sometimes the yard is empty, sometimes the house is there but falling down, sometimes the house looks fine.

Along I-10, a FEMA trailer park bakes in the sun. 'FEMA trailer' ? it?s pronounced as one word: Fematrailer. In Pass Christian we see the 'village' ? row upon row of heavy canvas army tents. How hot is it in there? City hall, the senior center, the police station, the bank, the State Farm Insurance office ? all in trailers.

Back at God?s Katrina Kitchen. It?s an incredible ministry, run by volunteers, existing on donations (www.GodsKatrinaKitchen.org). Breakfast, lunch, dinner ? anyone who wants to eat is welcome. Donation requested; none required. No questions asked. We ate lunch there every day.

Two ladies sit across from me, both locals, both suffered from the storm ? that?s what it?s called here, 'the storm.'

The older one got her FEMA trailer two weeks ago. She?d been living in her car or a tent since January; she lost everything. She looked to be about 80. The younger woman has a house ? with a blue tarp roof, still waiting on repairs. They bow their heads over the meal. 'Lord, thank you for sending us all these people to help us.' I think I?m going to cry.

Everywhere we go we hear, 'thank you for coming.' 'Thank you for helping.' 'Thank God for sending you.' 'Thank you.' It?s humbling. We?re doing so little. It feels like we?re trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon.

We?re only here a week. They?re here everyday. Day after day after day. They are thanking us when we should be thanking them for the awesome privilege of working here; for their genuine welcome and heart-felt gratitude. Thank you, God, for this chance to serve. Thank you, God, for these people.

Why are we working on a church when there are so many houses that need repair? Hope. That?s really what we?re building. Hope. If there?s a church there can be a community again. Not tomorrow, not next week. But there will be a community. No, that?s wrong: There is a community. A community being reborn, born anew. And in the community, the church stands as the strong reminder: 'God is in the neighborhood.'

The team?s blog written during the trip, July 22-29, can be found at http://hurricanereliefvim.blogspot.com. The Rev. Joye Jones is pastor of Good Shepherd UMC in Silver Spring.