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Only Up From Here
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The danger of a single story.
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Last Night
You probably should have been there.
First there was:
And then:
Followed by:
‘Twas fantastic.
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Six Years in Fast-Forward
Google Calendar emailed me at 5am this morning to tell me it’s August 29th. The email was unnecessary though; my body had already sent my brain the memo. Like on the previous five August 29ths, I woke up before 4am, and I waited.
Six years ago today, I was sitting in a hotel room in the French Quarter waiting to be exiled from the city I loved. I didn’t know about the extensive flooding yet. I was ignorant of the loss of precious family photos, material pieces of my history, and even the loss of my own sense of safety and self. I sat on the sixth floor of the Hotel Monteleone in the dark and the heat, waiting to flee.
Five years ago today, I sat in the chapel at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, overwhelmed and immobilized by emotion. As a new grad student, I was mandated to take part in a recovery work day - a fantastic idea for getting our seminary community involved in the rebuilding of New Orleans. However, this was a terrible plan for a girl who was exhausted from spending the previous year grieving in public. It was too much, too soon. I was raw from the emotion of it all - anger, fear, sadness, frustration. It was one of the longest days of my life. I waited for the worst to be over; I waited for the chance to bandage up my wounds again and go back to healing privately.
Four years ago today, I couldn’t hold onto anything. It started with my toothbrush, then my school books, pens in class, even my fork. I couldn’t make my fingers work. It seemed like some kind of metaphor, but I knew I was stronger. I let myself feel the sadness, and then I let it go.
Three years ago today, I evacuated once again, this time for Hurricane Gustav. We weren’t taking any chances this time around. After packing up everything I could from my Gentilly apartment, I drove to the Northshore to wait out the night and leave with my family the next day for Memphis. The eeriness and the irony of the timing wasn’t lost on me. The drive from Gentilly to Covington was filled with tears and terror - I wasn’t sure if I could make it through all that again. The fear was unexpected, and I felt very alone. I thought I had pushed through enough to make myself immune, but instead I had to wait for the fear to subside like a tidal wave finally pulling back.
Two years ago today, I woke up holding my breath. I remember feeling like I should be feeling sadder, like I should be overwhelmed once more. I waited for the familiar emotions to take over, but they never really did. I spent the day alone, reflecting and praying and letting myself reenter the sadness and the struggles I’d been working through over the previous few years. It was quiet and satisfying.
Last year, I spent August 29th with my church family. We rejoiced at how far we had come, by the grace of God, and we reflected on the loss. After five long years, I had some very real conversations with my parents about what really happened when Hurricane Katrina came through. Despite being trapped together in the city and going through Katrina “together,” the three of us took very different journeys through that time and the subsequent grieving period. I don’t know that they’ll ever fully know all of the emotions I walked through and still continue to wrestle, but we at least saw into each other’s worlds for a bit. I had waited for that for five years.
Today marks the sixth anniversary of Katrina’s landfall. That event will always define a part of me and my world. Say what you want about overcoming and not letting it shape who I am, but I probably won’t agree with you. There’s a measure of merit in admitting what the storm and the recovery process has done to make me who I’ve become today. There is truth in pointing out how God has carried me and molded me over the past six years.
When I woke up before 4am this morning, I thought surely I’d be done with this by now, but obviously that isn’t the case. Obviously there’s still more to work through - even six years out. I woke up waiting this morning, and I think this year I’m waiting to learn and re-learn lessons from the storm: compassion, mercy, patience, endurance, and love. -
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[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
“Go Outside” by Cults
And so begins the summer playlist…
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“Agoraphobia” - Austin Kleon
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Manifesto
1. An honest ego in a healthy body.
2. An eye to see nature.
3. A heart to feel nature.
4. Courage to follow nature.
5. The sense of proportion (humor).
6. Appreciation of work as idea and idea as work.
7. Fertility of imagination.
8. Capacity for faith and rebellion.
9. Disregard for commonplace (inorganic) elegance.
10. Instinctive cooperation.-Frank Lloyd Wright (via Invisible Children)
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Things I’m Looking Forward To, Vol. I
If you’re even close to one of these cities, you should go to this. Heck, if you’re even close to an airport that flies to one of these cities (or keeping with the theme, close to a railroad), you should go to this. You’ll thank me later.
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Thanks, y’all
When I signed up to be a volunteer coordinator, I’m pretty sure I had absolutely no idea what exactly I was getting myself into: sleepless nights, countless cups of coffee, a new-found appreciation for good plumbing, and perpetual exhaustion are the first few things that come to mind. The best and worst of my job tend to go hand in hand, and some days I feel like I’ve spent more time going in circles than actually accomplishing anything meaningful. Don’t get me wrong - I love my job. At the same time, my doe-eyed naivete is long gone.
Sometimes in our efforts to help and serve and “give back,” we (I am most definitely included in this) end up doing more taking than giving. At the end of the day, noble as our motives might be, we are still fallen creatures, needy usurpers who sometimes can’t see the bigger picture. I pray for constant reminders that my ministry is not just to the lost of New Orleans, but also to the people who come to serve, the Christians who come just as burdened and strained and broken to minister here.
Every once in a while, though, I meet people who remind me exactly why I do what I do, why all the sleepless nights and endless phone calls and hours of planning and re-planning and re-re-planning are worth it. I am grateful for every group that I work with, for what they teach me, and for what I hopefully get to teach them. But what really gets me through is meeting people who have come to serve this city and only want to give. This past week, the Lord knew exactly what I needed, and He sent a group to work with us who gave of themselves so wholeheartedly, and it was beautiful to watch and be a part of. They loved on the people of New Orleans with the love of Christ - unselfish and unwavering.
I am grateful for the kindness they shared, and more importantly, the joy. It’s not often that I see people serve with such joy. They reminded me why I love serving in this city, and why I love serving those who come to serve.
“I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” -Philippians 1:3-6
