Homecoming

I only go back to New Orleans on 2 occasions: weddings and funerals. It's crazy that over the past nine years I have only been back three times. God knew that in those nine years that he would prepare my return to my native city not only to serve, but relive.

And I was now a Christian; not just someone who was a fan of Jesus or thought that He was a cool guy. I followed Him, imperfectly, but by God's perfect grace. And there is something about having a house burned to the ground, becoming a firefighter, and coming back nine years later bearing the feeling that you could've done something. That's how it was for me returning to the poverty stricken, crime ridden, beautifully soulful New Orleans, Louisiana. I had left and returned with something more precious than a fixed levee, the Gospel.

The last time I spent any time over a week in New Orleans was when I lived there. So going on a mission trip with my church to New Orleans, I knew that I would have to face some sort of reality of everything that has happened since that time. A lot had changed about the city, and myself. I wasn't 12 years old, but I was 20. The 9th Ward, where I had lived before the storm, had been washed away and in the process of being rebuilt. Charity Hospital was no more and the fans of the football team no longer wore bags over their heads.

On our trip, we did a lot of work! The first full day consisted of an overnight disassembly of a house in the Superdome. Yes, I did type "disassembly" and "in the Superdome." All week we worked alongside an organization called the St. Bernard Project that supplied low-income victims of Hurricane Katrina who were also victims of contract fraud with an opportunity to have their houses made into a living sustainable condition, at an affordable cost. They were showcasing their housing in the Superdome. One group of volunteers built it, and it was our job to take it apart in a way where all of the pieces could be used again to build a house. It was a fun night, with the exception of one of my closest friends smashing my right ring finger with a sledge hammer. Let's not talk about it!

We were split into two groups after that day and were given different projects to work on. My group transported all of the pieces of the house that we disassembled into storage pods. And the days afterward we worked on a house owned by a sweet, old lady named Vera. It was really encouraging to work with so many college students, like myself, that were devoted to getting the house finished. Nobody complained, and I learned so much about Jesus' selflessness from my group.

As I said earlier, I know God took me out of the 504 and brought me back there again nine years later for a reason. On the trip I experienced a lot of things that I was unprepared, but yet thankful for at the same time. One of those times came Thursday morning, our last work day, where we took a trip to 1317 Alabo Street, my home. Also the place where I had to welcome back my reality.

The plan was for me to talk about the Hurricane Katrina story where my house used to stand (because I knew it had already been torn down due to flood damage from the roof down) however, that was delayed five minutes because I couldn't even recognize where my house was. After I found it, we all gathered in front of it, everyone waiting for me to share the epic story of the decade, and I had no words.

I was caught off guard by my emotions and I just explained where a lot of good and bad childhood memories occurred on that street. I pointed out where I saw my first crime scene. I introduced everyone to where I would race my friends on the street. Next door was Coach Rob's house, and we were standing in the parking lot where I experienced my first drive-by.

Soon as I got myself together I started explaining my personal Hurricane Katrina experience. It's too long for a blog post; I actually wrote a 9 page essay over it and received scholarship money for it! But to make a long story short for those of you who do not already know, my mother, grandmother, and I stayed and rode out the storm. We were trapped for 4-5 days and were taken to Houston afterwards.

Soon after I finished speaking and answering questions about stuff related to the story, one of the leaders on the trip asked if I needed time to be alone for a bit. As I took him up on his offer, I was very thankful. Some of my closest friends stayed with me to pray outside of the house, then I spent several minutes alone, with Jesus and the remains of the family house. I even tried to walk into it as if the steps were there. The weeds and grass had grown so high that it probably wouldn't have been the best idea to venture into there.

I soaked every minute in, and God reminded me of his sovereignty and grace and beauty. Just as our Savior died a gruesome death that none of us can truly picture, He beautifully saved us at the same time, and God beautifully raised Him from the dead along with our new hearts. God can do so much with nothing. He made the world from nothing and made man from dirt; there is nothing that is impossible for God (Luke 1:37).

When I express that God makes things out of nothing, I can directly look at my life. If you are a believer, you can look at yours as well. Underneath the skin, facial features, moralism, and intelligence we are nothing but a mess. We can hide it well. That's me too. I am sinful, and I needed Jesus but I didn't know it. I definitely didn't want Him, more than that, I don't deserve an ounce of His love.

We can't save ourselves, so God sent His Son to do just that; living the perfect life in full obedience to the Father, leading Him to His death. Our sin on His shoulders, more personally, my sin piercing His hands and forehead and heels. Above the pain came a burden that we, as believers, will never have to face when we are born again; separation from the Father.

Since Jesus bore our sins, and God cannot have a relationship with sin, Jesus was obedient to the point of His worst nightmare, separation from the Father whom He had loved eternally. All of this so we could be looked at as righteous and blameless, just as Jesus is.

That's a lot to praise the Lord about. The saving grace that changed my life eternally is the same grace that can change the former "murder capitol."

Not only did Jesus live the perfect life and die the most obedient death, but He also conquered death itself by raising to life on the third day. So not only can I be looked upon as righteous because of the death of Jesus but, I am enabled to do good works in Him. That's what changes my life.

The reason why the gospel is so important in our everyday lives is because the same grace that saves us and sustains us can do the same for another individual, group of individuals, or a city. In a situation where my family lost everything, God still had a plan in knowing that I would receive everything through the acceptance of the internal inheritance in which He called me into through His Son.

The next day was a lot harder because we went to the New Orleans Museum in the French Quarter, where there was physical remnants of the disaster named Katrina. It was a long mo(u)rning passing by pictures, reading information about deaths and other sad news. But through the sadness, there was hope. Finally it dawned on me. God chose to spare my life and more than that, take me into His family, call me His son, make me an heir! As my burden grows for my hometown, the Lord reminds me that He has given me everything I need to live; the Living Water.  Jesus.

Though there was a lot of destruction left from the hurricane and many aspects of New Orleans that can make stone cold hearts moved to tears, I saw so much hope. From the servitude of the team from our church, to the joy on Vera's face after we finished priming the walls to her renewed home, I was reminded of the hope that God gives us through His Son.  Just as He redeemed my life, He is constantly doing the same for the people of New Orleans!