I mentioned in my previous post that my life or I should have said my family's life has taken an interesting turn in the past few months. My husband has recently made a transition from a full time Senior Pastor of a Southern Baptist Church to an Associate Dean and Assistant Professor at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. We are truly humbled by this calling and transition, but at the same time it has been a little overwhelming dealing with all of this change. The children and I are staying in our current town while we try to sell our home and to allow our two oldest children to finish school. My husband is living in New Orleans during the week and traveling home on the weekends. We have been blessed beyond measure by our congregation who has asked my husband to continue to preach on Sunday mornings while we as well as the church are in this "transition" phase. It means so much to my family that our church family would want him to do that....such a unique relationship!
I have been thinking so much about where my "adventure" first began in New Orleans and how our family is preparing to move back there. I thought it may be best to start with the very beginning of our "journey" for you to understand where we've been and how far we've ....or I've come....to even be willing to consider moving back to "The Big Easy"......because living there and moving there as a "newly" married couple (we had just celebrated our 1 year anniversary) was NOT EASY!!!! This is going to be a rather lengthy "retelling" of my story, so I will write in "Chapters" with other "thoughts" and stories thrown in the middle of those "Chapters." I know ....probably not the most cohesive structure...hence imPERFECT!
Disclaimer: Remember I'm writing real truths and struggles of my life! I have said things and responded in ways that I'm ashamed of; however, I am writing my story in hopes of encouraging others to know that we all have struggles and through a personal relationship with Jesus Christ can we be made PERFECT!
Chapter 1
It was July of 2002 at 5700 St. Anthony Avenue, New Orleans, Louisiana. My husband and I, my parents, and my husband's parents had just stepped out of our vehicles. The sun and heat pierced through our souls and any other living creature, for that matter. The heat hummed and radiated in our ears, thicker than the black mud on the banks of the Mississippi. The humidity soaked every inch of our bodies until we were covered in perspiration --- hair matted to the back of our necks and legs and arms, little trickles of wetness pooled on our upper lips and slid down the side of our faces faster than the white waters flowing over Niagra Falls. Mind you, we had only been out of our vehicles for approximately 5 minutes. This was the first indication that we had arrived in a place only a couples of inches above hell! (Especially since New Orleans is below sea level!) (And so that I won't be misunderstood, I'll change "hell" to a "very bad place.")
The second indication that we had arrived to a "very bad place" was the fact that we were standing outside a prison - "Fort Gentilly" as my dad rightly named it. Stout wrought iron gates and heavy iron bars kept the public from entering the building. Wire fencing with rolled barbed wire stood at attention around the perimeter of one of the parking lots. A security officer "walked the beat" 24/7. And, inside this prison was a "cell" just for my husband and me. Cell #219. Apartment #219. Second floor. Up the concrete and steel stairs, down the walkway to the middle of the north side. We arrived to our cell, parents in tow, and opened the door to a world and an adventure that would grow and stretch me like no other had in my 22 years of life.
To be continued...
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