There they were: Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter on the evening news, flannel sleeves rolled up, swinging hammers. They were helping impoverished Southern families build livable houses, striking a blow against poverty and near-homelessness through a program called Habitat for Humanity International. The newscaster talked about this grassroots, non-governmental army of weekend carpenters who march to the sound of a different hammer. The volunteers wore T-shirts proclaiming "No More Shacks!".

As a building editor, whenever I see wall framing being raised into position, I get fidgety. I want to pick up a hammer. Naturally, when I saw walls being raised in the style of a hearty Amish barn-raising, I wanted to jump in. So when Habitat and related organization World Vision made a pitch for volunteers to spend a week working in Mississippi, I signed up and coaxed my 13-year old son Gabe to join me.

As we drove through the delta region of Mississippi, we could see life here was as real as the fertile black soil; people's needs were clearly evidenced by the tattered shacks dotting the roadsides. Located in the second poorest county in the United States, many of the people along these bayou deltas were--and still are-- pouring their baths with a bucket. Our building site was in Goose Pond, a tiny settlement of tidy houses on the fringes of huge cotton farms.

When we arrived at the barren concrete slab foundation, I wondered if we'd get a single wall built within the week. Except for four team members, our group's building experience ran from slim to none. We ranged in age from Gabe, at 13, to a 70-year-old grandmother. A key ingredient in our group was "Uncle George," a retired construction supervisor. With George's expert direction ("I don't want to see anything but fannies and elbows!") and what we all figured was a heavy dose of divine guidance, we managed to frame and sheath one four-bedroom house and drywall a second by week's end. And the walls were plumb.

Something interesting happened to my work style on this trip. When working on my own house, I have a tendency to mutter profanities as I struggle with plumbing or try to pull bent nails. But when my focus shifted to other people's needs, I found myself downright happy in my work, no matter how tough, boring or funky it got. We worked hard and for long hours, yet laughter and friendly chatter cushioned the task. We had fun. And through the sweat and laughter, we built friendships along with the houses.

Giving became infectious. From the moment we arrived, people housed us, entertained us and filled us with hush puppies, fried catfish and sweet iced tea. And they worked with us. Neighborhood kids, caught in the downward spiral of illiteracy and hopelessness, strapped on work aprons to help build their new neighbors' houses. Sears donated those aprons, as well as a batch of Craftsman power tools that made our work immensely easier. All of this activity grew from a simple gift of action.

At the end of the week, we stood with Mildred, one of the people we'd helped. Tears drew shiny paths down her brown cheeks. One of the guys in our group gave her an understanding hug and-- with that-- she wept openly. She said, "I just can't believe y'all came all the way from California to help me build my house." At that moment I wondered why I was so lucky... not just fortunate to have the abundant life so many of us take for granted--a healthy family, good work and a house... but incredibly lucky to be there in Mississippi, tired and sore, sharing with my son one of life's richest times.

Since I first wrote this article, more than a decade has passed. Nearly every October, Gabe and I have returned to the Delta, and my younger son, Kit, has joined us. We've worked side-by-side with families to help turn their dreams into homes. In the process, we've seen hope sprouting and bearing fruit.

Hurricane Katrina brought a whole new level of need to the coastal regions of Louisiana and Mississippi, and Habitat for Humanity has been one of the most powerful responders. We, as a society, clearly recognize the importance of a house. A house isn't just shelter. It is a place where a family can learn, grow, and love one another--a place that inspires traditions and encourages dignity.

When October rolls around and we find ourselves driving the rural highways deep into the Delta, we feel very different from the way we felt that first time. Now we feel like we're going home.

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