The Story That Moved Me (and You)
If you talk to ANYONE in New Orleans, it won't take long before you hear the name "Katrina". If you were in or near New Orleans on August 29th, 2025, I know you have a Hurricane Katrina story, too.
Mine begins when I moved from Uptown New Orleans to the Northshore two weeks before Katrina hit. I didn't move because of the storm. I didn't know the storm was coming at all. I just…moved. The place I left behind ended up witheight feet of water. Everything I owned would've been gone. The place I moved to lost power for six weeks and had a fence blown down, but it was perfectly livable and safe. That move...one I didn't fully understand at the time...ended up changing my entire life. (Just like it did for so many others.)
In the weeks following the storm, I began attending a nearby church. (Which was quite unusual since I was a devout atheist at the time). Not out of some big epiphany, but because for some reason...maybe gratitude, maybe fear to make sure I kept God "happy"...I really don't know why...I started to attend. What I do know is that step eventually led me into the work I do now. To the people I have come to love. (That's you). The calling I feel deep in my bones every day. All from one story...mine. One move. One storm. One yes.
If you live in New Orleans long enough, you learn this: everyone has a story. Some are loud and wild. Some are quiet and cracked around the edges. But every story says something about who we are… and who we're becoming. And when we share those stories in community, something beautiful happens: we start to heal. We start to see each other. We realize we're not alone.
There's actual research to back this up. After 9/11, communities that practiced storytelling and reflection recovered faster. The ones that sat in circles, shared what they'd been through, and listened to each other. They found resilience, together.
This isn't a recent practice at all. Most cultures and spiritual traditions already know and practise this. In Indigenous communities, storytelling isn't a hobby...it's how wisdom is passed down. In Judaism, there's midrash: a sacred way of expanding the text with layered stories and meaning. In Islam, stories of the Prophet's life serve as a guide to daily practice and communal values. In Christianity, Jesus didn't give lectures...he told parables. Little stories that echoed in hearts long after the words were gone. Even outside formal religion, stories are how we make sense of chaos...how we carry memory...how we know we matter.
So here's the invitation this week: Tell your story. Or better yet, make space for someone else to tell theirs. Gather a few friends. Ask one honest question. Take turns answering. Then… listen. Really listen. Don't fix. Don't compare. Just be there.
Try a question like:
What moment changed how you see the world?
What's something your neighborhood taught you?
What have you lived through that others might not see?
What is your Katrina story?
You don't have to host a big event or lead anything fancy. You just need to show up with curiosity and heart. Because storytelling isn't just something we do. It's something that forms us...together. And maybe, just maybe, your next step forward starts with telling the story that brought you here.
Here for the stories and the people who tell them,
Sam
