This statement is found on the wall of the new levee in the Ninth Ward I wrote the following sometime in late December:
Almost a month ago, I made my first trip to New Orleans. My introduction to the city presented a strange dichotomy: days spent gutting a home that had been flooded after Hurricane Katrina, nights spent exploring the French Quarter. From the sunny, brisk (well, freezing, by Southern standards) Saturday morning when we divided our team up into three work crews, I was watching, thinking, analyzing, wondering how I would be able to put this experience into words.
I am still perplexed. Four days was not enough to find answers, to draw conclusions, not nearly enough to fully grasp or grieve the devastation of a city. Yet it was a time rich with so much to observe, and plenty of time for reflection. I have continued to reflect in the weeks since then, and do so with great anticipation for my next visit to New Orleans...
That greatly anticipated next visit took place this past week. This time, I was not gutting houses, but it was freezing once again, and I experienced another great dichotomy in the city. Just hours before I arrived in New Orleans, tornadoes ripped through several neighborhoods, devastating the city once again. The power was out for two days in some areas, another fleet of FEMA trailers made their way to the Big Easy, and folks who had just started getting back to normal life after Katrina were left back at square one. At the same time, the city was gearing up for Mardi Gras: store shelves were stocked with beads and King Cakes, krewes were preparing their floats, and families bundled up, pulled out their ladders, and lined the streets for parades. Once again, the people of New Orleans would prove that they couldn't be thwarted by a storm.
Though there was a party going on, that was not my purpose in traveling to New Orleans, nor was it the focal point of most local people's activities. I was there to search for housing for our YouthWorks site, and the process of searching -- knocking on doors, meeting friends of friends, networking -- afforded me an opportunity for which I am so grateful: I got to hear people's stories. As I listened, I discovered some common themes in these stories. They are the stories of people whose lives were radically changed by a massive storm; stories of people who did not have special training or qualifications, yet have given up their lives and their plans because they couldn't sit idly by; stories of individuals and groups who are, one house and one program at a time, rebuilding a city, responding with a diligence that governmental bureaucracy would not allow, and with a sense of love and hope that no secular force could bring. Above all, there is a conclusion that clearly punctuates many of these stories: life is better since the storm.
YES! You read that correctly. Life is better since the storm. Though there are still more questions than answers, though the physical and emotional damage of the hurricanes is still profound, though the road ahead looks painfully long on some days ("this is a marathon," one woman told me), life is better. Life is fuller, richer, more meaningful. Faith is stronger, because it has to be. God is bigger, because what else could they cling to?
As I heard the stories and looked around at a city that is slowly being loved back to life, there was no doubt in my mind that God is doing something good in New Orleans. It is a new thing, an unexpected thing, an incredible (by definition: "so extraordinary as to seem impossible") thing, a thing that calls to mind a declaration the Lord made to the prophet Habakkuk: "Look among the nations, and see; wonder and be astounded. For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told" (1:5). God is doing something in our days, and I do indeed find myself astounded.
I still struggle to grasp all that the hurricanes left behind. There is still so much that troubles me, breaks my heart, much that can not yet be verbalized. The process will indeed be a long one. I am grateful that this spring will bring me back to New Orleans a couple more times, even more excited about the prospect of spending the entire summer on the Gulf Coast. I anxiously await the opportunity to hear more stories, and I will certainly feel compelled to share those stories. At the same time, I am even more compelled to tell you to GO. Go to New Orleans, hear these stories for yourself, see and be a part of what God is doing there. You will wonder and be astounded, and I believe that your faith, like mine, will grow stronger, and your picture of God will grow bigger.
Just a note as I end this: There is still a lot of darkness, ugliness, and devastation in New Orleans. I do not want to overlook that - I especially do not want to neglect the plight of the poor and marginalized folks in the city or the children who are in need. However, as I watched yet another news story about the crime in New Orleans at home in Birmingham last night, I found myself angered, because it seems like that is the only story being told throughout the country. I want people to know that there is hope, there is growth, there is LIFE in New Orleans. God is present and moving there, and His story should be getting much more coverage than it is. I hope I can play even a small part in telling that story.
Almost a month ago, I made my first trip to New Orleans. My introduction to the city presented a strange dichotomy: days spent gutting a home that had been flooded after Hurricane Katrina, nights spent exploring the French Quarter. From the sunny, brisk (well, freezing, by Southern standards) Saturday morning when we divided our team up into three work crews, I was watching, thinking, analyzing, wondering how I would be able to put this experience into words.
I am still perplexed. Four days was not enough to find answers, to draw conclusions, not nearly enough to fully grasp or grieve the devastation of a city. Yet it was a time rich with so much to observe, and plenty of time for reflection. I have continued to reflect in the weeks since then, and do so with great anticipation for my next visit to New Orleans...
That greatly anticipated next visit took place this past week. This time, I was not gutting houses, but it was freezing once again, and I experienced another great dichotomy in the city. Just hours before I arrived in New Orleans, tornadoes ripped through several neighborhoods, devastating the city once again. The power was out for two days in some areas, another fleet of FEMA trailers made their way to the Big Easy, and folks who had just started getting back to normal life after Katrina were left back at square one. At the same time, the city was gearing up for Mardi Gras: store shelves were stocked with beads and King Cakes, krewes were preparing their floats, and families bundled up, pulled out their ladders, and lined the streets for parades. Once again, the people of New Orleans would prove that they couldn't be thwarted by a storm.
Though there was a party going on, that was not my purpose in traveling to New Orleans, nor was it the focal point of most local people's activities. I was there to search for housing for our YouthWorks site, and the process of searching -- knocking on doors, meeting friends of friends, networking -- afforded me an opportunity for which I am so grateful: I got to hear people's stories. As I listened, I discovered some common themes in these stories. They are the stories of people whose lives were radically changed by a massive storm; stories of people who did not have special training or qualifications, yet have given up their lives and their plans because they couldn't sit idly by; stories of individuals and groups who are, one house and one program at a time, rebuilding a city, responding with a diligence that governmental bureaucracy would not allow, and with a sense of love and hope that no secular force could bring. Above all, there is a conclusion that clearly punctuates many of these stories: life is better since the storm.
YES! You read that correctly. Life is better since the storm. Though there are still more questions than answers, though the physical and emotional damage of the hurricanes is still profound, though the road ahead looks painfully long on some days ("this is a marathon," one woman told me), life is better. Life is fuller, richer, more meaningful. Faith is stronger, because it has to be. God is bigger, because what else could they cling to?
As I heard the stories and looked around at a city that is slowly being loved back to life, there was no doubt in my mind that God is doing something good in New Orleans. It is a new thing, an unexpected thing, an incredible (by definition: "so extraordinary as to seem impossible") thing, a thing that calls to mind a declaration the Lord made to the prophet Habakkuk: "Look among the nations, and see; wonder and be astounded. For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told" (1:5). God is doing something in our days, and I do indeed find myself astounded.
I still struggle to grasp all that the hurricanes left behind. There is still so much that troubles me, breaks my heart, much that can not yet be verbalized. The process will indeed be a long one. I am grateful that this spring will bring me back to New Orleans a couple more times, even more excited about the prospect of spending the entire summer on the Gulf Coast. I anxiously await the opportunity to hear more stories, and I will certainly feel compelled to share those stories. At the same time, I am even more compelled to tell you to GO. Go to New Orleans, hear these stories for yourself, see and be a part of what God is doing there. You will wonder and be astounded, and I believe that your faith, like mine, will grow stronger, and your picture of God will grow bigger.
Just a note as I end this: There is still a lot of darkness, ugliness, and devastation in New Orleans. I do not want to overlook that - I especially do not want to neglect the plight of the poor and marginalized folks in the city or the children who are in need. However, as I watched yet another news story about the crime in New Orleans at home in Birmingham last night, I found myself angered, because it seems like that is the only story being told throughout the country. I want people to know that there is hope, there is growth, there is LIFE in New Orleans. God is present and moving there, and His story should be getting much more coverage than it is. I hope I can play even a small part in telling that story.
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