Less than fifty miles west the unceasing tide rose, pushing inland without remorse. Nature has no remorse. It has no emotion. There were no “I’m sorrys” when Hurricane Katrina washed the world away on August 29th, 2005.

Entire blocks of the Mississippi Gulf Coast slipped into the unrelenting sea. Gone. Forever residing at the bottom of the Mississippi Sound for some future archaeologist to discover.

The levees broke. With them, my heart.

Searching for purpose in the wake of disaster – searching for myself – I volunteered to return immediately to help. I didn’t go. When the campus reopened nine months after the flood, I returned. June 1, 2006.

I made it two years – two years that changed the very core of who I am.

Six years ago today my life was uprooted. As were thousands of others, I became an American refugee. Six years ago I grew up. And in the two years after I returned, I learned what it meant to be a man.

Pain. Compassion. Hard work.

When I quit my job making coffee last year, I went to the Red Cross. I joined because I didn’t want people to suffer the way they had during Katrina. I wanted to help.

And I did. I’ve responded to fires and tornadoes. In the aftermath of the North and Central Alabama tornadoes, our chapter sent volunteers and staff to help. I did everything I could within the guidelines of the AmeriCorps VISTA program. And when a position opened up at the chapter in July, I applied.

Six years. Six years ago I would not have seen myself here. Not in this town. Not doing this.

But here I am. Today – six years to the day after my world was completely rocked – today is my first day as the District Volunteer Development Specialist with the American Red Cross.

I’m sure I’ve been making a difference for a while now, whether it was in Louisiana or Texas or Alabama. Whether it was as a popcorn boy at Target or as a coffee boy at the local bookstore or over the last year as a volunteer and VISTA.

It took a while. It felt like eternity. I’m pretty sure I sacrificed a few of my geriatric years getting here.

Pain. Compassion. Hard work.

It was worth it.

Since I graduated high school, I’ve been a lot of places on the road. I decided to see if I could come up with a map of all the traveling I’ve done over the years, including a few trips that I forgot details for. I’ve been to thirty-seven states (in high school I flew into New York City and we visited New Jersey from there) and four Canadian provinces. I’ve lived in four states (Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama). One of my goals before I’m 40 is to make it to the rest of the United States and Canadian Provinces.

I’d also like to visit more of the National Parks. I’ve driven the Natchez Trace and Blue Ridge Parkways. I’ve seen the Smokey Mountains, Glacier National Park, and Yellowstone. I drove through the Bighorn National Forest, the Badlands, and the Grand Canyon. I caught the west end of the Florida Everglades. I’d love to get out to Big Bend in Texas and visit the Pacific Northwest.

Anyway, you can click the image (or here) to see a higher-resolution version.

As a Red Cross volunteer, you can be the best part of someone’s worst day.

Three. Hours. Lost. On a mountain. In Montana. You getting this? It was a long three hours on that mountain.

It was getting dark and I was low on fuel. The road changed quickly from narrow and paved to narrower and rock. Then gravel. Then dirt. It was getting a little sketchy. I’m pretty sure every movie that begins this way leads to a gruesome death followed by an hour and a half of terror on screen. I took a risk going up on that mountain.

About this time last year I was making coffee at a bookstore for overprivileged, ungrateful mallrats. I left that job out of occupational frustration to volunteer full-time at the Red Cross last August. It was a huge risk; I would end the only job I had to become a volunteer in hopes it would lead to something better. Something bigger. Something meaningful.

In a way, it did. I worked hard. Very hard. And in January I became an AmeriCorps VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America), which is sort of like the domestic Peace Corps. I was assigned to the Red Cross, so I got to stay where I was already volunteering. The job came with no control and no salary; instead it carried year-long job security and a “living allowance” of $10,700. About what I’d make in a year at the bookstore in the mall, but with 200 times the responsibility and 40+ hours a week. It meant responding to disasters. Tornadoes. Fires. Late nights and early mornings. Shooting from the hip and bending the rules. And still. Hard work and minimal pay.

We joke that we get paid in pennies* and hugs. (*Bring your own pennies.) I work hard to keep what I have. I risked a lot to get where I am. I don’t want to lose it. But I also want more. I’ll be thirty years old in the next two weeks. Thirty.

Four years ago I went up on a mountain because it seemed like the thing to do. Low on fuel and headed into the sunset, it was a risky move. Last year I quit my dead-end (but paying) job to start a career. I don’t know if going up on that mountain was worth the risk. I’m not better off having been up there. I got a picture and a story. The last year? Tonight, if you’ll allow me a little leeway, I find myself wondering if that risk will pay off. All I know right now is that it was better than making coffee for a living.

more about Priest | photos of Priest’s work

The Red Cross offers assistance after disasters like the tornado in Butler, and almost all of that assistance is provided through volunteer caseworkers deployed into affected communities. Above you see photos from Deer Park, Alabama. The same storm system that produced tornadoes in Butler also devastated Deer Park in south Washington County. As an AmeriCorps VISTA, it is my responsibility to recruit and train volunteers for the Alabama Gulf Coast Chapter. These volunteers, like Roger and Wanda Reetz, Pamela Schnitzler, and Brenda Bivens (all seen above) graciously give their time to serve in disaster-affected communities. It’s through Roger and Wanda Reetz that I’ve learned about disaster response.

Wednesday night I wrote a small story about what it means to be a VISTA (think of it as the domestic Peace Corps) with the Red Cross as part of an assignment given to me by AmeriCorps.

Last week, in the middle of tornado response, I spoke to a stroke support group at a local hospital. The topic was disaster preparedness. Soon, I’ll be speaking to a senior citizen group in Grand Bay, Alabama about the same. Tonight, as I write this story, I’m tuned to the news. A tornado ripped through Tuscaloosa and devastated the west side of Birmingham this evening. Our wonderful, but overworked, volunteers are already preparing to deploy northward.

On Thursday workers in Choctaw County, where in addition to the Butler tornado of two weeks ago, we now have 20 more damaged homes. The first of our chapter’s volunteers to Birmingham and Tuscaloosa deployed Friday and Saturday.

A year ago I was working for the Census. In August I quit my job with Books-A-Million to become a full-time volunteer with the American Red Cross, Alabama Gulf Coast Chapter. They brought me on as an AmeriCorps VISTA in January. The jobs I had over the last year are necessary. Someone’s got to do them. But…

With the Red Cross, you can be the best part of someone’s worst day.

And that sure as hell beats making coffee for a living.

The following is the story Cennie Jackson (bottom right, in white) told me in Butler, Alabama the Monday after a tornado ripped down her street and destroyed her home (top left).

“Let’s take a ride.” Those were the words Stacy Jackson spoke to his wife just hours before a tornado ripped through their mobile home in Butler, Alabama. Stacy’s wife, Cennie, called her husband to come home during severe thunderstorms in Choctaw County on April 15, 2011. Instead, Stacy suggested the couple take a drive out of town for a while. The decision probably saved their lives.

Upon returning to their home, the Jacksons realized they would be starting over. The American Red Cross was in Choctaw County assessing damage in the days immediately following the tornado. Using it as an in-depth opportunity to train new volunteers in damage assessment and client casework, I was partnered with Pamela Schnitzler (top left). We navigated our way around downed branches to the Jacksons’ home.

Off its foundation with one tree across the left side, the home was severely damaged. Another tree missed the right side of the home by mere feet. Windows were blown out. The front door was off its hinges; the doorframe separated from the rest of the building by several inches.

We met Cennie and Stacy in their neighbor’s front yard. Cennie spoke of their future in Butler. “We’ll start over. We’ve done it before, and we’ll just have to do it again.”

Last Sunday after church a few of us went down to an annual three-day arts festival, Arts Alive!, in Cathedral Square. I took this shot of a glass-worker at work.