Trayvon Martin

This post is barely coherent, and if I took more time, I could probably make it make sense. One of the things that has struck me about the Trayvon Martin story is that it seems too many (mostly white) people are refusing to see one of the real issues in this case. A black boy who was doing nothing wrong was basically chased by a man who thought he was doing wrong based on an irrational fear. Although I understand that there may have been some illegal activity in the area in the past, this man chased this boy down instead of allowing law enforcement to check the boy out. The boy was guilty only of walking to the corner store to buy a snack in the rain, and wearing a hoodie to do it.

This police department failed both the victim and Zimmerman by failing to treat the investigation as a homicide until the defense of self-defense was proven. Self-defense is just that - a defense to a killing. The investigation should have been conducted as if there was a homicide, and leave it to the DA or a jury of Zimmerman's peers to determine if there is a sufficient self-defense argument to determine if the case should be thrown out. This police department acted as a jury and accepted the credibility of Zimmerman on the scene instead of collecting evidence. Now Zimmerman is being tried in the court of public opinion, which is never a good court to be tried in. Martin was failed by the police department because he was treated differently than another victim would have been treated.

One thing that I think that most white people do not understand is how they react when they see a black man or teen walking around them. Do you pull your purse closer to yourself when you see a black man but not when you see a white man? Do you automatically assume that a black person walking through your neighborhood is up to no good but do not think twice about the white person? Those actions are based on irrational fears of a person who is different from you. If you are a white woman living in the South, a black man is very rarely going to do anything to you because they understand that it would be a max sentence if they did. You do not need to fear "them." They may speak to hit on you, so just politely respond declining the advances. Do not fear someone just because of their race! It is ok to watch someone you do not know in your neighborhood to make sure they are not up to something, but it is not ok to track them down with a gun so that an altercation ensues and someone ends up dead. It is ok to be vigilant, but not ok to have irrational fears that someone is up to no good because they are dressed in a hoodie or any other way.

I realize that I come from an entirely different perspective than most people I know because of my life experiences. I cannot help but think though that one of my innocent boys (and I have a few of those) could easily be Trayvon. My boys look like him. My boys walk to the corner store for snacks like him. My boys even wear hoodies in the rain like him. My boys would probably fight if they were followed like him. The police department probably would not do as thorough of an investigation if they were shot like him. If the tables were flipped and one of them followed Zimmerman and acted as Zimmerman did, there is not a doubt in my mind that a proper investigation and arrest would have occurred at that time. Our society values certain lives above others, and you can see it the most when those who are valued least are victims instead of perpetrators. It is time to do a reality check as a whole and start addressing the irrational fears. I think some are learning from Trayvon, and at least his death will not be in vain if some change their irrational fears. Justice will not be served because we are humans living in a fallen world. However, maybe change will come in the way that certain victims are treated and how some laws are applied. And maybe we can overcome some of our irrational fears and not take matters into our own hands.

Prison

One thing that hit me today as I read a letter from prison quoting Paul who wrote the verse quoted while in prison was that we benefited from Paul's imprisonment. If it were not for the imprisonments that Paul experienced, he probably would not have slowed down long enough to write letters. Paul was able to devote the time to writing letters because he had time on his hands. He was not preparing for the next sermon or dealing with church issues, but was able to devote time to the letters and to conversation with those around him at the jail. I am sure that I have heard this before in sermons, but it is something that seems to be more clear to me today.

One thing that prison gives a person time to do is think. One of the things that I think some of my boys needed was time to think. In the past when they have started thinking, they have done things to try to push out the thoughts. Although some of those things are still around in prison, they seem to be concentrating on good time more than trying to dull any pain. One of the brothers of both Guy and James are in jail right now. I heard from both this week. Their letters have a much different tone than the boys I saw before they went to jail. One thing I noticed in both - hope. They have thought about the future, and are planning for it. I think that one of them is finally ready to leave the old life completely behind. I pray that he continues toward his goals. I know that I am grateful for the words I have read this week. I am also glad that they know that there is still someone who has hope for them as well. I love my boys!

Something Changed

The biggest change I think I have experienced between Guy's murder and James' murder - I don't even care who the shooter(s) is/are or whether they are ultimately tried for the crime. It is sometimes easier to not know and not put a face on the killer. I have barely given the shooter(s) any thought except to think about how I am not thinking about them this time.

I remember telling my pastor this summer that sometimes when a family learns who committed the murder, it is more difficult to deal with the death. When a family in our church learned who the murder was of their family members, that was proven true for them. It was true for me when Guy was murdered. I hope I never learn who did it to James because of the extra layer of emotions that it causes. His death is hard enough to deal with without knowing.

Six Flags 2002

If there was one day I wish I could have captured on video so that I could watch it over and over again, it would be the day that the Center kids went to Six Flags in 2002. I remember bits and pieces of that day. I ended up with a group of four boys - I always get along with the boys better. One in my group was too short to ride many of the rides. I noticed his pouty-ness and decided I would not ride the ride if he could not ride it. I spent a lot of time with him that day. I also made the rule that we had to alternate rides between the ones he could ride and the ones he could not. My reward was some hand holding and lots of smiles. He was my buddy that day. My little sidekick. He was one sweet little boy.

Later the younger kids went back to the Center and I volunteered to stay with the teens. I assumed the older kids would not want me around. I was wrong. When they saw me they asked where I had been, and forced me to walk around riding rides with them. I say forced - I am sure I was easy to convince. One of the boys made me sit on the outside of him on a spinning ride. This resulted in him being pressed up against me for the entire ride. Another boy kept saying he felt like he was going to be sick causing me and my ride partner to laugh so hard we were almost crying. We got along that night. We were friends.

Now both of my ride buddies are gone. I said goodbye to the teenager - Guy - almost three and a half years ago. My short boy grew up - taller than me, but did not get to become a man. I will be saying goodbye to James this weekend. There is one day in my memory that unites them and it was that day at Six Flags. Sure, I remember them being around me together at other times, but this day was a special day. I am thankful for the precious memories. I am thankful for that day at Six Flags nine years ago. For the moment, it feels like it was yesterday.

James Wells

May 1, 1994 - August 26, 2011

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 1:21b

Learning Early

I am so excited that my lil guy loves books! I have brought at least one book for him with me each time I have visited since July of last year, and this past weekend, the first thing he asked for was a book. Nevermind that the Mr. Potato Head was right there. He wanted a book. Fortunately I brought him two this trip. I am very excited that he likes to read. It will also make it easy for me to know what to bring him each time I come in - a book of his own. I recently read an article that said that the number of books a child has in the home is a better indicator of educational success than socio-economic level. Books (which usually result in the love of reading) are important. I have a feeling that I will do my part to stock lil guy's own personal library!

Countdown to 30: Day 1

Tomorrow I turn 30. Today I am still in my 20s. I am going to write today about one of my best decisions that I made in my first 30 years of life in one of the moments of extreme difficulty.

I got the phone call that Guy had been shot and killed at 5:24 p.m. on August 17, 2008. He had died approximately 30 minutes before I received the call. It is weird how you can remember dates and times like that sometimes. I also remember exactly where I was when he was shot and killed (and what I was thinking/praying about at the time) even though I did not know the shooting was occurring at that time. I remember exactly where I was at when I received the phone call - approximately 1 mile from the Turkey Creek and Meeker exit on I-49. I had just seen the exit sign when my phone rang. I basically had less than a mile to make one of the most important decisions of my life. I had to decide whether to turn around and go straight back.

I was prepared to make the decision. I do not think that I even considered continuing home at that time. I had already been through the hurricane with my kids. I had already missed one funeral. I had spent a week just being a sister to Birdie. Ironically, I had packed extra clothes to last through the weekend just in case - that was my thought as I packed them, although I did not have any clue what the "just in case" would be. There was no question that I was heading right back to New Orleans that night.

Many people have come and gone out of the lives of the kids at the Center. Everyone knows that it happens. The kids have gotten used to it. Although people promise to come back, and even make a few trips, eventually life happens and separates the kids from those whom they love. It seems inevitable. I think that the kids used to worry that I would do the same thing. Sure, I went in 2001 and 2002 and 2003 and 2004, but would I come back after the hurricane? I surprised the kids by remaining faithful to come see them. I had been away for over a year when I went in that week in April, but I also knew as I left that I could not possibly stay away that long again. When Guy's murder happened, I am sure that almost everyone would have understood if I did not turn around. I had to work the next day. It was not safe for me to go back when the boys were being targeted. It hurts too much to continue in this type of ministry. Almost everyone would have understood if I did not go back, and if I did not go to the funeral, and if I cancelled any future trips.

Galatians 6:9-10 says "And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith." I heard the versions mentioned in a sermon about a week and a half after Guy's death. I realized then that those verses were the reason I turned around that day, even if I was not thinking of those verses. I believe that God has a plan for the kids that I have invested so many years building relationships with. I believe that God has a plan for the Center and for each child that goes through the Center. I believe that I was able to convince more people of my love for them by going back that night. My actions spoke louder than any other words I had spoken to them in the previous seven years to that point. Yes, most of them would have understood if I did not come back, but I would have lost something in my relationships with them. I knew that there was a brother who needed me, but would never call me to let me know. It was up to me to be there because now he knows to call me and tell me he needs me. I would not trade in that type of relationship for anything. There is another boy who is currently sitting in a jail cell. I pray that God will remind him of His love because that boy knows I love him since I came back that night. It is easy to say I love you but harder to prove it. He knows I do, and I pray that it will lead him to God's love someday.

I cannot give up on the kids in New Orleans. God promises that we will reap if we continue to do good. I think that too often, we give up too easily. We want an instant reaping, but like growing a crop, it takes time for the seeds to grow. Weeds spring up fast and die quickly, but the fruit-bearing crop takes time. I do not know what God's plan is for the boys I love. I do know that if I had made the wrong decision that day in that split second when the decision was made that I would have missed out on one of the biggest blessings of my life - sharing in the day of little guy's birth! Ironically, I received the phone call that he had been born as I was less than one mile from the Turkey Creek and Meeker exit on I-49. Plus, his daddy had learned his lesson and called me because he needed me that day so I could share in his joy. I feel like I made a huge decision that day, which is strange because it was made without thinking about the consequences one way or the other. It was made without any thought of my own safety or potential heartache or really without any thoughts of myself at all. I am sure that the decision did not make sense to a lot of people, but often God causes us to make decisions that do not make sense so that He is glorified. I believe that God was glorified more by that decision than any other choice that I have made because His love was on display for all to see - both in New Orleans and outside. I just pray that God will continue to be glorified in my love for my kids and their kids for years to come!

Countdown to 30: Day 2

I am having to learn about forgiveness because of Guy's death. When I arrived back in New Orleans the night it happened, I was informed that one of the suspects was a boy who used to go to the Center. At one time I was very close to this boy and his brothers. Their picture was out for all to see at my house. My photo albums were filled with pictures of this boy. I would consider myself closer to him when he was a kid than to Guy. I did not know that this boy was even back in New Orleans.

It is hard enough to deal with the death of a friend. It is even harder when the death is a murder and the friend is so young. It becomes almost impossible when you are faced with the possibility that someone you know and love could be responsible for the murder of someone else you know and love. I am not even sure that I can begin to put it into words. One thing that I did know was that I would have to forgive this boy even if I never know whether or not he participated in the drive by shooting or took the shot that killed Guy. I do not know if I will ever see the boy again (it has been about three or four years since I have seen him I think), but if I do, I will have to show the love of God to him. Anger and bitterness are not going to do either one of us any good.

I am often in the neighborhood where the boy stays. I admit that I am often looking for him. Part of me wants to see him just to see how I would react. Part of me wants to avoid him. I can look at his pictures now. Maybe that is just a tiny step towards forgiveness. I remind myself that the sin he committed against Guy and Guy's family and friends is so small and insignificant compared to the sin that I commit against a holy and righteous God. It helps to put the sin in perspective that way when working through forgiveness.

Countdown to 30: Day 3

The press coverage following Guy's murder was something that I do not think I was prepared to deal with. On the one hand, I was glad that his murder was being covered because he was a name instead of a number, he had a family, and a community was grieving. On the other hand, it was difficult to read the inaccuracies in the stories, the wrong assumptions, and to see that the police were pursuing the wrong suspect. The continued coverage of his death seemed to make his murder mean something, but it also made it hard to deal with because the story seemed to be everywhere. Some of the facts in the story made it hard to read (such as his arrest for drugs) because although they were true, they made society view him as someone who had it coming to him instead of making society see that there were friends and family members who loved him and were in pain. The arrest of the initial suspect several weeks later meant that the story was in the newspapers again, even though the initial suspect was no longer a suspect in Guy's murder. Later that year came the TV specials on crime in New Orleans and the high school that he attended, and it was like picking at a scar until it bleeds again.

The news coverage following Guy's death has taught me some important lessons. First, do not believe everything that you read in a newspaper. I know that everyone knows that, but people need to be reminded of that when they read about murders and other crimes. Chances are the story is not 100% accurate, so do not convict someone of a crime in your head just because of what a newspaper story says about the crime. Second, even alleged criminals' families grieve when choices that the person makes leads to their death. One of the hardest things to hear was that the city was better off without someone like Guy on the streets. Even if society as a whole has a valid point, that does not bring comfort to the family and friends who miss the side that society did not see. I now read the newspaper stories with sympathy for the families and friends instead of just indifference towards the victim. Third, it is hard to grieve when there is media attention. I only experienced this on a small scale, and of course it was easier being in Texarkana where people did not hear about it unless I told them. I cannot imagine how hard it must be for families of the victims of 9/11 or even the killings that happened in Ft. Hood last week. I know that it was hard for me because I wanted to read and watch and see all of the media accounts, but it was painful to read and watch and see. I do not know if it is easier to deal with death privately, or if it is just the nature of Guy's death that has made everything so difficult. Finally, there are just some things that cannot be conveyed by the media. People may get a glimpse of what the family is going through, but they really have no idea.

Countdown to 30: Day 4

Sometimes God prepares us for what is about to happen. It may not take the shock completely away, but it still may help. This is one of the toughest, yet most comforting lessons I have learned in my first 30 years.

In April 2008, I made my first trip to New Orleans in over a year. I went primarily to see Birdie, but I was happy to see everyone. One Tuesday which was usually boy's night, I was catching up with Malcolm when Guy called Malcolm to give him a ride home. I said they could use my car, but I was riding along too. When we picked Guy up, I said, and not jokingly, that he was acting as if someone was going to shoot at him while walking up to my car. Unnerving to say the least. When we dropped him off, he thanked me, and I told him he was welcome to a ride anytime. He said, "no, thank you for everything." I remember telling Jennifer that he acted like he was about to die. It bothered me.

The next day was Guy's birthday and he stopped by the Center. I wasn't used to him stopping by just to hang out, but he stayed talking with me and some others for around an hour. Again I could not help but think he was acting like someone who thought he was about to die. I also felt like he had just seen his last birthday. That day was one of the best days I have had in New Orleans since the hurricane, and I am glad God gave me that day.

I was leaving to go home on April 17. Birdie needed a ride so I dropped him off at a friend's house right before I was to leave. Guy was there. Guy told me bye. Guy never said goodbye - ever. I could not bring myself to tell him bye because there was an overwhelming feeling that this was the last time I would see him alive. I even told Jennifer that I was afraid the next time I would come in would be for his funeral. I even told Birdie I was worried about Guy. I started home about 2. Guy was shot and killed around 5. I received the phone call at 5:24.

Although there was plenty of shock, I believe that God was preparing us for what was about to happen. It did not make the hurt less although it may have made the hurt bearable. There was comfort in knowing that God sometimes gives us warnings so that we can bear what is coming. I as the outsider coming in noticed the way Guy was acting more than those close to him probably would have. I am just glad I had time with Guy that week and with everyone else.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Countdown to 30: Day 7

Last year was all about life and death for me, and the happiest day of the year was definitely when Verchaun Guy was born. He is my little guy! Since I already covered his birth, I am reposting the event for one of my favorite memories in my first thirty years of life. You can find the story here.

Countdown to 30: Day 8

I have been going to Carver Baptist Center in New Orleans for eight years, and, as anyone who has known me for any length of time or has been to my office to see the pictures everywhere (or has read this series), there is a particular relationship that has meant more to me than probably any other friendship in my life. Of course I am talking about my boy, Birdie.

The funny thing about Birdie is that I do not remember meeting him. I am not even sure that he remembers meeting me. I do know that the second spring break that our college group went to the Center in 2002, he and his cousin were locked out of the house accidentally and were asleep on one of the couches downstairs when we arrived. I do not remember that, but he does. I even have a picture or two from that trip where you can see him in the background, but I do not think that I talked to him or knew who he was at that point. When I went back that summer for the month of July, we started getting close. In fact it was nothing unusual for me to have Birdie, Malcolm and Fred with me going everywhere. Plus Birdie was responsible for watching his nephew Coy who was almost two at the time, which meant that I watched Coy while Birdie played basketball.

We really started to click in 2003. Birdie got himself into some minor trouble while on an outing with the missionary at the Center. I noticed tension between the two, so I put extra effort that week into spending time with Birdie. He went everywhere with me (except the beach - he was temporarily banned from Center activities), and I played basketball with him for hours (resulting in a purple - yes purple - sunburn that made him concerned enough to stop the game and make me go inside to cool off and down a ton of water). I literally tortured him to make him tell me what he had done to get into trouble. I think I may have locked him in a room (favorite tactic of mine with the kids) and grilled him continuously for half a day before he revealed what he had done. Instead of instantly lecturing him, I acted completely out of character and told him I was proud of him for telling me himself instead of waiting until someone else told me. The lecture came later in the form of a very long letter that I sent to him and that he actually read and remembers to this day. From that point forward, there was no way to convince either one of us that we were not brother and sister, although he still didn't like for me to hug him in front of friends.

The dislike of public hugging went out the window in 2005 with Katrina hitting. As soon as I saw him the first time after Katrina, I received one of the biggest hugs, and in front of his whole family, that I think I have ever received from Birdie. Katrina is also when his mother started claiming me as her other daughter and his siblings started calling me their white sister. I became part of the extended family during that time, and I think that quite a few members of his extended family still claim me today. Our relationship had a strange period during 2006 and 2007 because I knew he was doing things he should not be doing, but I was still loving on my little brother. Plus he was arrested, and I had to lecture him. I lectured him on the phone. I lectured him in person. I lectured him over the phone some more. He did not seem to be listening, and I was frustrated. 2007 ended up being a year when I could only make one trip to New Orleans in the spring, and I actually went over a year without seeing him. I am not sure how I ever survived that long!

In January 2008, one of Birdie's good friends was shot and killed. Fortunately Birdie was not at the scene that night, although I do not think that he sees it that way. When I found out about it, I procrastinated in calling Birdie because I did not know how to deal with things like that over the phone, and I knew I could not make it down there to see him in person to go to the funeral. On the morning of the funeral, I sent him a text message to let him know I was thinking about him (cowardly, I know!), and soon my phone was ringing. It was so good to hear his voice on the other end, but I was glad I did not contact him earlier or my butt would have been driving to New Orleans! I had no idea that I would have my chance to be there for him after the death of a friend just a few months later. All I knew as I hung up is that I loved that kid and I had to see him soon.

Soon did not come soon enough. New Orleans has this cool website where you can follow court dates of those awaiting trial, and I knew he had a trial date coming up. I knew I wanted to be there for him for his trial date, so I kept up with it. It kept getting pushed, but finally a date was set for April 15. I called his sister (because he did not return my call) to find out if it was set to go, and I found out that his family knew nothing about the date coming up. Nice. Soon he was on the phone with me telling me that I did not have to come, but I had to be there. I got in on the Monday night before his trial on Tuesday. I went to see him not long after getting in and seeing him that night I knew that I could not go a year without seeing him again. The trial date was continued (of course!), but I met his lawyer and we exchanged contact information so that the trial could be scheduled at a time I could go. I spent the rest of my time in New Orleans hanging out with him and the other kids. Birdie and I had many good conversations that week, and I was able to leave him on Thursday knowing I would see him in a month.

The call came as I was about halfway home that Thursday. Guy had been shot and killed. I had seen him about three hours before the call when I was saying bye to Birdie. Without being told, I knew Birdie had been there this time. I sent him a text to let him know I was on my way back, but I could not call him. He would not want to talk at that point anyway. I spent quite a bit of time with him the next few days, although it was not enough for me. I do not think our friendship would have been the same if I did not turn back that day. However, that is a story for another day.

I did go in for the trial. I also went in for the birth of his baby boy. I went in a few weeks before the birth of the baby so that he could have one last weekend all about him instead of the baby. I used to kid him that the baby would replace him as my boy once the baby was born, but instead it has made us closer. I love my little guy, but his daddy still has that special place in my heart! Birdie loves to watch me spoil little guy, and I love to watch him being a daddy. We have talked about the gospel many times, and I am convinced of Birdie's salvation even though he struggles with some serious sins. My friendship with Birdie has taught us both about Prov. 17:17: A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. We have been there for each other during the death of a friend and the aftermath of Katrina. He has been there for me when I almost passed out in a hospital. I have been there for him during a trial and the birth of his child. We both have loved unconditionally. It is a friendship that will continue throughout eternity, but is a little piece of heaven on earth. I love my baby brother!

Countdown to 30: Day 9

(Hurricane Katrina cont.) Today will be the last day I post on Katrina even though there is so much more I could share, such as the trips to the 9th Ward, trips to Houston, trips to Nachitoches, trips to Ruston, rumors of people dying while later being able to rejoice because they were alive, etc. I have not even scratched the surface! My last two stories involve the same family, and are further examples of how God put me in the right place at the right time.

Several weeks after Katrina hit and after my house was empty again and I was getting settled, I got a phone call from one of the kids letting me know that one of our college age girls had been in a serious car accident. One of the passengers (a girl I did not know) was thrown out of the car and killed, and the girl I did know who also had been driving the car was on a ventilator in pediatric ICU. She was in critical condition but things were looking promising for her. They did not expect her to live through the first few nights, but by the time I got the phone call she was progressing. I asked where she was in the hospital, secretly hoping that it was far enough away that I would not need to go while at the same time hoping it was close enough I could go to see the family. My fear of hospitals created the strange desire to go but not to go. Turns out she was in the hospital in Shreveport, which is a little over an hour away from Texarkana.

I got in contact with the family and let them know I would be there on Saturday. I was secretly relieved to find out the girl was still in PICU because I knew that meant I would not have to go to her room and see her in the worst condition. I met her mother in the lobby and was casually chatting with her as we went upstairs to the PICU waiting room. Next thing I knew, we were standing beside her bed and there she was, ventilator and all. Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out. I froze. I plastered myself against a nearby wall and refused to say anything. Her whole family was laughing at my reaction. The nurse asked my relation to her, and her mom answered, "She is our cousin, can't you see the family resemblance?!?!" I have since learned that the easiest way for a non-family member to get in to see someone when visiting is for family only is to be a white person visiting an African-American patient. After being in a coma for a week and a day, the girl started waking up. Just a few weeks later, she was home (well, at their temporary home in Ruston). God had placed the family and me in the exact places that we needed to be for me to be able to minister to the family during that time. I am now an honorary member of the family, and do not try convincing any of them otherwise!

In spring of 2006, my church was able to go down and gut the home of the same family. I cannot describe the amount of hard work that is involved in gutting a house. To give a bit of perspective, you have to wear a hazmat suit and goggles and a mask. There is no ventilation in a hazmat suit. I drank at least two bottles of water every 45 minutes, and I did not go to the bathroom all day. The first step is taking everything the family owns and putting it out on the curb for a trash truck to come by and pick it up. Then you start to rip out the plaster and slats that are damp and moldy and mildewy. It is hard work. There are all sorts of four, six, and eight legged critters that come out of the wall when you start ripping it out. Now that I know how much work it involves, and am not sure that I could ever do it again. But I probably would. Gutting homes is an important ministry in a situation like the aftermath of Katrina. Workers were charging thousands (because it is a lot of work), but that would leave families with no money to start rebuilding. It was too emotional of a task for the homeowner to do it. Plus, many homeowners such as the family we helped were stuck in the situation where they were paying rent on an apartment and a mortgage on a house, meaning they had to pick up extra shifts of work whenever possible, leaving little time to work on the house. The family is a family of believers, so it was a small way for believers to help fellow believers. Plus, one of the members of our team was able to share the gospel with a man on the street walking by, and that man then went forward for baptism that Sunday at the church that I took the group to. God has a way of putting us in the right place at the right time!

Countdown to 30: Day 10

(Hurricane Katrina cont.) God put me in the right place at the right time with the right possession during the aftermath of the hurricane. Today I will share two stories that show that and tomorrow at least one more.

After the hurricane hit, people were scattered all over the place and it was difficult to locate them. One of the families that we knew lived in an area that flooded was not showing up on any of the registries, and we just thought we might not hear from them ever again. There was no way of knowing if they were rescued. The mother has mental issues, and me and one of the other missionaries were very attached to the children. We did know that they had not evacuated prior to the storm. They were just an unknown. On the Wednesday a week and a half after Katrina hit, I was getting ready for work as usual and decided to open up the newspaper to read while blowdrying my hair. Soon I was screaming in excitement with Ms. Brenda running down the hall to see what was going on. I was so excited I could not put sentences together. Right there on the front of the Texarkana Gazette was a picture of this family that we were particularly concerned about - they were in a shelter in Texarkana. The story was there for everyone to read - the family was rescued by boat, split into three groups for buses after being told that the buses were all headed to the same place, mom and one son went to Shreveport, a son and a daughter ended up in Tyler, and a third son ended up in Houston (he was 13 I believe at the time). Mom was transported to Texarkana because of health concerns, the two in Tyler were transported to Texarkana to be reunited with her, and the third son, after an almost week long search, was flown to Texarkana to be reunited with the family. The family had no idea I was in Texarkana since I had just moved there, so it was a complete shock to them when I walked into the shelter that night after work!

A single mother and her son were staying with family in Houston. Not too long after Katrina hit, Rita threatened to hit the Gulf Coast near Houston. This mother did not want to go through another hurricane, and called to see if she and her son could live with me. I had an extra bedroom and an extra bed, so why not?!?! I really did not know her very well at the time. Her brother is my little brother, Birdie, and her son has always been my spoiled little boy. We had hung out in Houston right after the hurricane because I could not wait to get down to see Birdie. With about 30 minutes preparation, I was in my car headed down to Houston to pick up this mother and her son to live with me. At the time I did not know how long they would live with me, but for some reason that did not seem to matter. We loaded up all of her possessions (which fit in a tupperware tub) and headed back to Texarkana. She and her son lived with me for almost two weeks. It was not until after they had moved out that I began to realize how crazy it might have been to let an almost stranger move into my house with her son. However, I believe that God teaches us to house those who need it and to share our possessions with those in need. My motivation was love - love for her son, love for her brother, love for her, and love for God. I learned a little bit about biblical hospitality during that time. The aftermath of Katrina is at least one time in my life that I can point to where my actions did not make sense to the world - and hopefully portrayed the love of God.

Countdown to 30: Day 11

(Hurricane Katrina cont.) At some point I remember getting a call from Keayea, Birdie's sister. They were in Houston after getting out of New Orleans and driving two days. I remember listening. I listened a lot on the phone during that time. I do not remember everything that she was telling me, and got the story quite confused as I tried to tell it to others, but all I knew is they were safe. I couldn't believe it though until I talked to Birdie. I had to talk to him. It was bothering me that I had not talked to him since before the storm, but I was able to talk to him that night.

I had daily phone calls with the missionary at the Center who had evacuated to her parents' home in Kentucky. We would update each other on who we had heard from. We figured out that text messages were going through on 504 numbers whereas phone calls were not as reliable. I was not a texter at that time. I would call the one family that remained in the neighborhood daily to find out if they had received any assistance (and to make sure they had put an axe in the attic just in case). At some point, they stopped answering their phone.

I pretty much started living on autopilot. I had many conversations with people that consisted of where are you at, what is your phone number there, and then listening as they complained about shelters, lack of assistance, lack of money, etc. Everyone was grieving, including me, because the one thing that we all knew for sure is that nothing would ever be normal again. The way of life prior to the storm was gone.

There are many stories of God's provision, a few of which I will share in the coming days. One of those stories involves a family who called me from Baton Rouge. They had no gas left (at least not to go much further than Baton Rouge), it was hard to find gas. They did not have a place to stay because the family member they thought they could stay with had a houseful already. The only thing they knew to do was call me, and I had no way to help them. After getting off the phone with them, I checked my e-mail, and there was an e-mail from a college friend whose family lived in Baton Rouge and wanted to help if I knew of anyone needing help. Several frustrating phone calls later as I tried to direct the two families to a meeting spot, this family of a college friend was able to provide some immediate assistance to this family from New Orleans. It is awesome still to think how God worked that out.

Countdown to 30: Day 12

(Hurricane Katrina cont.) On Monday around noon, I started dialing the phone. Suprisingly, after about an hour, I was able to reach someone at one of the homes. Within two hours, I had made contact with those in the homes near the Center that I had numbers for. There was wind damage, including a tree that had fallen in on one of the homes. There was no electricity, which was to be expected since the wires are above ground in that part of town. Everything else seemed to be alright. I made sure that each home had my cell phone number, and I let them know that cell phones with New Orleans numbers were not working except to call out so they needed to check in with me.

As the afternoon wore on, it became apparent that the city was flooding very rapidly. The people in the neighborhood had no way to watch the flooding on TV. My new mission was to inform each of the homes that they needed to find a way out of the city because the flooding was quickly approaching their part of town. Landlines stopped working because most of the phones were handhelds and only lasted as long as the charge. One home in the neighborhood had an old phone that did not plug into an electrical outlet, and I could still contact them. I just had to hope, pray, and wait to hear from the other families. Rumors were running rampant. Looting was occuring. It was a mess!

On Tuesday, there was only one family in the neighborhood that I could reach. The water was still rising and they were starting to panic a little. They did not want to leave their house because they were supposed to be getting kicked out by the owner soon and did not want to risk losing everything. They had stories of others leaving or rumored to leave. I watched coverage on TV all day long (and was really tired of seeing this one guy that they showed over and over and over and over loading the same ice chest into the back of his car). I actually saw the rescue of one family that we knew on TV, but they kept showing the guy loading his ice chest instead of showing the clip again. I watched for hours trying to see the clip again. I also watched to see who else I would know rescued. It was tough!

Countdown to 30: Day 13

Hurricane Katrina is the natural disaster that has affected me the most in my life to this point. There is no way that I can fit all of Katrina in a single post, so it will probably take me several.

At the end of August 2005, I was excited because I finally had a job and I was moving to the place I love - Texarkana! I bought a new car to start building the necessary credit to own a home and to have a more up-to-date car. I was staying with Ms. Brenda because I had signed a lease on an apartment, but it was not ready yet. I was preparing to start the new job the first of September. I knew that there was a storm brewing in the Gulf that had the potential of hitting New Orleans, and it looked like a big one.

On Saturday, I could not help but watch the weather coverage off and on. The most encouraging thing seemed to be that the governor of Louisiana was saying that it looked like there would not be a need to evacuate. Whew! It can't be that bad if there is no need for evacuation, right? When I woke up the next morning, the whole story had changed. Category 5. Headed straight to New Orleans. Evacuate now. It seemed as if things had changed overnight. Fortunately, I was staying with Ms. Brenda. Ms. Brenda worked for years with the Red Cross. She was able to provide me with a ton of advice that helped with communication over the next few days. She adviced me to obtain several contact numbers for anyone I talked with, to keep a notepad with the numbers handy anytime I talked to anyone, and to keep trying numbers until there was a response. On Sunday I started calling everyone I had numbers for and writing down every number anyone would give me.

On Sunday night I could only wait to see if the worst would happen. I did not sleep much as I watched the storm get closer and closer to New Orleans. At some point on Monday it was mostly passed and the worse was over. The eye hit Mississippi instead of New Orleans, and New Orleans was fortunate enough to get the west side of the storm. At least those were all thoughts I had on Monday.

Countdown to 30: Day 18

Today I thought I would share a memory that has sustained me through some difficult times. When you work with children in the inner city, it is pretty much inevitable that one of the children you are working with will be shot and killed. I am now up to three kids that have been killed by violence and two or three(that I know of - I am sure there are more that have been grazed) that have been shot but survived. I also knew one of the parents of the children that was shot and killed in a shot meant for the son. It is a rough world for these kids.

One of my favorite memories of New Orleans is the Chasing Rabbits memory. Since I have already blogged about it in full, I thought today I would just link to my highlight for today. Days such as the day that we chased rabbits allow me to remember that these teenagers and adults were once children who acted like children and loved like children and played like children. Remembering those days reminds me to love them now and pray for them. Since this memory includes two boys who have been shot and killed, it is one of the sweetest memories of them for me. Enjoy my adventure chasing rabbits in inner city New Orleans!

Countdown to 30: Day 19

I will never forget the first time I saw someone I know arrested. It was a strange day. I was in New Orleans for the summer in 2004. New Orleans was experiencing a spike in violent crime that summer. The decision was made to have state police officers join city police officers on patrol.

It was a Wednesday night, and, as usual, I was hanging out with the kids outside the Center. There was a huge crowd outside that night. I was enjoying the time with the kids. Guy and Marquis had been around but they left when they saw a police car go by. I asked why, and one of the kids informed me that the police were looking for two boys who stole a bike, and it was Guy and Marquis that stole the bike. Soon Kenny who is Marquis’ cousin and Geoffrey who is Guy’s brother came up on a bike and started working on the bike. Everything was normal for a Wednesday night and nothing seemed to be out of place.

I saw a cop car driving the wrong way up the one way street in front of the Center. I found it odd, and even remember making a statement about how odd it was. When I said it, some of the older boys started to scatter. Soon we were surrounded by four cop cars with two to three officers each and a police helicopter circling overhead. It was unreal. The cops surround Kenny and Geoffrey and started questioning them about the bike. I was in law school at the time (and even wearing my Baylor Law shirt), so Geoffrey kept looking over at me and I would shake my head yes if it was a question he should answer or no if it was one he should not answer. Obviously this frustrated the cops.

At some point I remembered that Kenny’s grandmother was inside the Center attending Bible study, and I ran inside the Center. As I heard the cops saying something to me as I ran in, I realized that maybe it was not the best decision for me to run inside like that. However, I was able to get Kenny’s grandmother outside to start handling the situation. I also remember everyone talking about calling Geoffrey’s mom so that she could come down and deal with the situation for Geoffrey.

While all of this was going on, the officers started walking around the crowd of people. One of the older guys was so high that he had the attachment for a blunt still in his mouth. The police arrested him for having drug paraphernalia. It was really odd to see someone I knew being arrested. The first feeling was a feeling of distrust for the officers. I was surprised by that feeling, but it probably came, in part, because of the apparent overreaction by the cops. It turns out that the cops were looking for the boys who had stolen a bike not far from the Center. Problem is that they had the wrong boys. Another problem is that four police cars and a helicopter seemed very excessive for bike thieves. Even worse, the whole event made the news that night.

As a result of being present at the arrest and due to the entire event, I came to distrust officers. I now understand why there is such a distrust of law enforcement in the inner city. There was something that made me feel less safe that night because of the presence of the officers. I am sure that the police department would say that the size of the crowd caused them to be concerned for their own safety, but they were looking for two boys who stole a bike. Even now, I have to remind myself that law enforcement is there for the protection of the public. I have to remind myself to trust law enforcement. It is a strange change that came over me that day, and it was a change I was not expecting or prepared for. I can understand how my friends in New Orleans do not trust the police department, even if most officers are good cops. The officers had no idea how much harm their decisions would make when they acted that night. It is possible that even without the overreaction I would have had the same distrust just because someone I knew was arrested (even though I knew he was guilty of the offense). What I do know is that I still struggle with trusting any law enforcement, and I constantly have to remind myself that police officers are there for the public’s safety.

Countdown to 30: Day 27

New Orleans March 2002. The week in New Orleans for spring break 2002 changed my life forever. New Orleans has done quite a bit to shape me into who I am today. New Orleans will make quite a few appearances over the next few weeks, so I am going to go ahead and lay the foundation for New Orleans as well.

My first trip to the Carver Baptist Center in New Orleans was March 2001. I hated it. I hated the city. The children were rowdy. The Center was not what I expected. The sleeping quarters were hot and crowded. The showers were small and crowded. The French Quarter was dirty and crowded. The trains and boats on the River were loud. There were a ton of things that I did not like about the city. There was one little boy that I did like named Michael, but that was it.

My friend went to New Orleans as a summer missionary the summer of 2001, and I started to fall in love with the children at the Center through her. I also went with her and a few friends fall break of 2001, and God was starting to chip away at some of my dislike of the city. I still had a ways to go, but I was starting to see that God had a plan for that city and for those kids.

In March 2002, our church chose to go on our second spring break mission trip to New Orleans. Although I was slightly disappointed that we were going back to the same place two years in a row (back when I viewed mission trips as a way to see as a new place as much as sharing the gospel), I could not wait to see Michael. There were other children I knew by name by that point and could not wait to see either, but I was most excited about seeing Michael. During that week, my heart towards New Orleans was changed forever.

I was not assigned to work with Michael’s age group, which was a disappointment at the time, but now I can see how God used that to form relationships that are still meaningful today. One of the boys in the class I was assigned to is currently living with me and attending Texarkana College. A simple little decision by a college minister making assignments seven years ago resulted in my ability to host this student today. That college minister probably has no idea that the decision made seven years ago has present day consequences. Isn’t God amazing? A boy who was locked out of his house when we arrived in town who remembers me from that trip although I do not remember him from then is one of the most important people in my life today (you will hear more about him before I reach thirty!). Missionaries who the year before were just names and people we saw working started becoming friends. A city that the year before had not quite captured me became my second home. When I left that mission trip, I began planning my next trip to New Orleans, and I still am always planning my next trip to New Orleans. At this point, I have lost count on how many times I have been there. It is a place that is a part of who I am, and in the past eight years (almost nine now) has taught me so much about God and humanity.