The earth may not be flat,
But New Orleans is.
Swamps surround the city built on swamps,
A city ever sinking but never sunk.
We walk on water, you might say,
Though perhaps not by faith.
We have no hills or mountains,
Just a dome and some mausoleums
Set against splendid sunsets.
Live oaks canopy our parks,
And streetcar tracks connect us
In a city where East and West mean
North and South
And our architecture speaks
Many languages.
Photo by Morgan Petroski on Unsplash
It snowed ten inches in New Orleans yesterday-
That’s ten more inches than we get most years-
And gave the city an impromptu holiday,
A joyful breeze that chilled our undried tears.
We speak the language of precipitation
But not this dialect. We know of flood
But not of flurry or accumulation,
And frost’s not often what has chilled our blood.
But in a city mourning New Year’s tragedy,
Where bitter memories still haunt our sleep,
A snow day brought an unexpected melody,
Reminding us we will not always weep,
For songs that seemed forgotten in the night
Were found again and sung in winter’s light.
My friend Gary Myers wrote about how New Orleans needed a snow day this year, highlighting the news anchors who covered this day just weeks after covering a tragedy. I kept thinking about that observation, about the juxtaposition of tragedy and joy, and it led to this poem.
Clichés are funny things. On the one hand, I tend to avoid them because they feel too simplistic, too trite. I expect that any cliché I use will be met with eye rolls and exhaustion. On the other hand, clichés do convey truth. As some have pointed out, clichés are quoted for good reason: they often express reality clearly and simply.
So when I consider the cliche, “Home is where the heart is,” I wince a bit, but I find the sentiment rings true, as illustrated by this past week.
Near the beginning of last week, we here in New Orleans began monitoring Hurricane Zeta as she sped toward the city. After a summer full of storms and close calls, we considered Zeta’s size and speed and decided to stay put, expecting more of an inconvenience than a catastrophe. And in large part, that’s what we got. Zeta battered us with wind and rain, knocked out power for much of the area, then left, leaving us a bit disheveled but largely unharmed.
We woke the next morning to clear, cool weather, to a sense of peace where chaos had appeared just hours before. While many on our campus were without power, those with the means to serve shared gifts of coffee and warm food, of power outlets and light. Community came together, thankful for God’s protection and joyful because of his gift of friendship. We enjoyed the day, laughing and eating and simply being together. While many of the buildings we occupied were dark and cold due to power outages, I felt at home even there because of the warmth of community.
People opened their homes throughout the next few days, hosting friends for Halloween parties, offering hot showers and working kitchens for needy families, and providing places of rest in the midst of a stressful season. The Halloween season can often focus on fear, but it became an opportunity for fellowship and safety this year. Though nights were spent in powerless buildings, days were filled with the warmth of friendship.
I’m thankful for the people God’s placed in my life during this season. This year has been filled with hard questions, difficult decisions, troubling circumstances, confusing journeys, and a host of other things that have often caused stress and anxiety. But in a year filled with so much fear, when so much has been shaken, I’m thankful that home endures because community endures.
Photo by JOHN TOWNER on Unsplash
In the midst of rising concerns over Covid-19, New Orleans had a few beautiful days this weekend.
People love ghost stories. People hate ghost stories. But no matter the response, ghost stories have crept into our lives and our cultures, and they don’t appear to be leaving. Continue reading
(Photo cred: Brianna Radcliff)
New Orleans has a special way
Of reaching to my heart
With po-boys, crawfish, etouffe
And clogging every part.
For many things are fried down here,
And many run with grease,
Yet when the dinner bell has rung,
My stomach finds its peace.
But one abode of tasty treats
Stands high above the rest.
It beckons men to empty seats
To taste its tasty best.
O great Dat Dog, you are the joy
Of many near and far.
With gourmet dogs for girl or boy,
You truly set the bar.
So I resign to take the chance
Of gaining weight today,
And enter this delicious dance…
But first, let’s stop and pray.
I laid my Bible to rest last Wednesday, and I felt like I was letting go of an old friend.
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as i learn to walk 