So what happens next?

Monday morning (Marathon Meeting Mondays, remember?) I was sitting in devotion when the reality of my life struck me.

Oh my God. I live in New Orleans. I'm sitting in a group of incredible people I completely love. I live in a church and work at the most fantastically dynamic home I've ever been in. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?

I've gotten a lot of questions about what I want to do after I finish this. I can answer this with total honesty: I don't know.

Life in community is so beautiful, I don't know if I can leave it. There is an undercurrent of "truth" that once you get a little older, it's time to settle down, get an apartment/house, get a real job, and move on.


But that isn't the only way we can live. Sure, it's the dominant narrative in our country right now, but that doesn't make it right. It's not really natural to live so isolated--in an apartment or house with only kids and a partner. There are options.

And you know what? It's not really hard. Some things about it suck (the shower is the first thing that leaps to mind,) but the benefits far outweigh the annoyance. So as far as I can tell right now--I want to live in some sort of true community, if it's possible.

The other parts: where do I want to go, where do I want to live? Well...I'm torn.

I love New Orleans. I want to throw myself into life here completely, put down my anchor, and be a part of this unique and rebuilding city. I love the music, I love the feel, I love the people. I love the community. And I love First Grace--it's an incredible church community that is really based on love. I adore the residents at Hagar's House and have gotten back to where I look forward to coming to work.

But.

There is a mountain-shaped hole in my heart, a hole that longs for forests and waterfalls and mossy rocks. There is an ache where my family lives that I can't replace here. There is a surety and certainty in the love of Konnoak, my home church, that I miss. There are so many people I miss every day--friends and church family I just don't see anymore.

New Orleans is carving its place in my heart right next to the Blue Ridge Parkway--PoBoys beside Boone Drug, First Grace beside Konnoak, brass band beside orchestra. And I feel this holding back that I feel like is interrupting life here, this knowledge that I could be gone come October 2011.

So many people are transient residents here--tons of young, progressive white kids come down with AmeriCorps or Catholic Worker or US-2, do their job, and leave. And yes, that's great and wonderful.

But I don't want to be another fleeting face here. And I honestly don't know if I can leave.

Probably the longest "I don't know" you've read in awhile. Sorry for the rambling...I'm still trying to sort it out.

If any US-2s or Mission Interns (or anyone else, really,) has any similar thoughts, I'd love to hear them.

Captive Israel

Last night, I went with some of my roommates to a Taize service nearby. If you're unfamiliar with a Taize style service, it's a service of music and silent meditation.

We walked into the chapel to find it full of candles. The first song we were in there to sing was "O Come Emmanuel."

I know this song--I've sung it all my life, I have the words memorized. But last night, repeating the first verse in a chapel filled with flickering candlelight, I heard the words in a new way.

O come o come Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel


In hearing this song, I realized that to me, Israel is now New Orleans. And New Orleans is captive--captive by crooked politicians who sit on federal money and refuse to rebuild. Captive by federal contractors who condemn and demolish sturdy buildings and replace them with shacks. Captive by a devastating housing crisis and crime rates among the highest in the nation. Captive by a levee system only repaired to pre-Katrina strength.

But like Israel, there is joy and beauty in New Orleans. It's a city of joy and love, commradire and struggle. It's a place of music and history. It's a place where people at two seperate tables who have never met strike up a conversation and share their wine.

Rejoice! Rejoice
Emmanuel shall come to thee
O Israel


Emmanual--God with us--comes to this city each time a church opens a food pantry. Each time there is a meeting to struggle for a viable public health care option. Each time there is a festival of music. Each time a community of worshipers comes together regardless of race, class, gender identification or language, God is with us.

And through the captivity, through the struggle, through the fear, God is with us.

Emmanuel.