Written: June 2, 2008
I know I say it all the time, but I love Gentilly Baptist Church. It is so far removed from any church experience I have ever known, that it makes all my interactions with this church either a blessing or a surprise. It’s fun. There are a select group of kids that I am especially fond of because of how very different we are. We come from completely different worlds, which makes me pretty intrigued, and ultimately, burdened. Yesterday, one of the girls, Regina, asked me if we could make snacks for her to bring to school for the following day because her family could not afford the expense. I think at the end of the day, the kids make these requests because they really just want to get out of the house and away from their day to day. I agreed, upon the stipulation that her mother gave us permission. Regina called her mother after the service, but for some reason, she said she would only allow it if I took their one-year old baby nephew (it’s a sorted story) with us. Now, a little background on this little boy... The charts are not available at this time, but apparently, he is the son of a young, 16-year-old mother who thinks it would be okay to take a baby onto a “party bus,” which explains why he was so tired and so upset during church the following day. Nevertheless, he came to church today, but reeking of dirty diaper. Regina, about 8 years old, had been put in charge of him that day. When we asked her if she had brought any diapers, she explained that their family was completely out. Apparently, they had been out for a little while, because when I went to change him, his ragged jeans were completely soiled, even though he was wearing a diaper... Fast forward a few hours, and I am at the place where Regina sleeps (although, she told me, this was not the place where she lived; two different places, very confusing). Her parents live about three miles away. Their aunt, who may or may not have mental illness, explains to me that if Regina goes, the baby has to go with her because “I don’t want no baby around givin’ me headaches.” I have no idea where the baby’s mother was. I insisted that because I did not have a car seat or a baby-proofed apartment, that this was really not a safe idea. She will hear nothing of it and, while I am busy discussing this with her aunt, Regina is busy stuffing the sleeping baby into my back seat. This is pretty much how every interaction with this family goes. Finally, we decided that the baby would go to Regina’s actual parents’ house to sleep, and we would continue on with her other cousin, Theranesha (nicknamed, Nesha), to bake snacks for tomorrow.
When we arrive at her parent’s house, her father comes out to meet me. This comes as a surprise to me because most of the children at Gentilly are raised by single mothers. However, he is no Bill Cosby or Howard Cunningham. He has is probably early-30’s, tall, wearing an outfit straight from a FUBU ad, complete with a small pistol hung from a Taco Bell lanyard around his neck. I’m not making this up. Who knows if it was real, but it was shiny... which attracted enough attention to know I didn’t really want to find out. He was cordial enough, shook my hand, invited me in to meet the family (which I politely declined and waved at them from the door instead). Back in the car, I comment that Regina’s dad seems nice enough, for which she and Nesha both scoffed and said “yeah, he seems nice enough, but he’ll give you a poppin’.” Needing clarification, I started gently, “Do you mean he gives you a spanking?” They laughed and said, “No, he’ll beat you” which then leads her on a long tour of different places on her body where she has gone to school with a bruise or burn and been questioned by her teachers. Then, she breaks in to his prison record, which has mostly to do with what I can only expect would be drunk driving charges.
Time at my apartment, baking cookies, painting nails, playing with make-up and watching movies was nice. It felt like three eight-year old girls getting together for a slumber-party, but it was short lived. By 5PM, we were headed back. When we got back to Regina’s house, I was sad to see her go back in to that dysfunctional, unsafe environment, but there was little I could do. Just as I was about to pull away from the curb, I saw her father flag me down. Regina had already gone inside at this point, and I was left alone with this man. I rolled down my window ¼ of the way, expecting him to ask me about Regina or something. Who knows what I thought he was going to ask, but none of my possible options had included, “Will you take me to the store? I need some aspirin.” Quickly, I pulled open my console, and there, sitting like salvation, was a half-empty bottle of Excedrin. I passed it to him through the crack in the window and thought we were taken care of. Then, he looks at it, says thanks, and asks again if I will take him to the store. Thankfully, I had plans immediately following, and used that as an excuse. As I sat there, laughing at this strange situation in my head, looking at this guy’s pistol and recalling his track record, I can’t believe I didn’t feel any fear. As I pulled away, perhaps as a release of emotion, I said out loud to myself, no one around, “Of course I’m not taking you to the store; You’ve got a pistol strapped to a lanyard around your neck.”
As I recap this story, the underlying thoughts here are “how on earth can we help this situation, and the millions of others that are represented by it?” I thought that I would have to go to Russia or Bosnia to find a foreign mission field, but New Orleans has proven to be foreign enough. I am one person, and the need seems so great. Although this sounds like the making of a great story, which will later be turned in to a dramatic movie on Lifetime, hopefully played by someone other than Brooke Shields, it only has a good ending if the Spirit of the Lord will fall on this city, and this church, and this community. If the Spirit will bring conviction, and my own hands are ready and enabled by time spent with the Lord. Father, may this burdened spirit and troubling situation ignite change through your power.
When Jesus comes he comes in power
I know I say it all the time, but I love Gentilly Baptist Church. It is so far removed from any church experience I have ever known, that it makes all my interactions with this church either a blessing or a surprise. It’s fun. There are a select group of kids that I am especially fond of because of how very different we are. We come from completely different worlds, which makes me pretty intrigued, and ultimately, burdened. Yesterday, one of the girls, Regina, asked me if we could make snacks for her to bring to school for the following day because her family could not afford the expense. I think at the end of the day, the kids make these requests because they really just want to get out of the house and away from their day to day. I agreed, upon the stipulation that her mother gave us permission. Regina called her mother after the service, but for some reason, she said she would only allow it if I took their one-year old baby nephew (it’s a sorted story) with us. Now, a little background on this little boy... The charts are not available at this time, but apparently, he is the son of a young, 16-year-old mother who thinks it would be okay to take a baby onto a “party bus,” which explains why he was so tired and so upset during church the following day. Nevertheless, he came to church today, but reeking of dirty diaper. Regina, about 8 years old, had been put in charge of him that day. When we asked her if she had brought any diapers, she explained that their family was completely out. Apparently, they had been out for a little while, because when I went to change him, his ragged jeans were completely soiled, even though he was wearing a diaper... Fast forward a few hours, and I am at the place where Regina sleeps (although, she told me, this was not the place where she lived; two different places, very confusing). Her parents live about three miles away. Their aunt, who may or may not have mental illness, explains to me that if Regina goes, the baby has to go with her because “I don’t want no baby around givin’ me headaches.” I have no idea where the baby’s mother was. I insisted that because I did not have a car seat or a baby-proofed apartment, that this was really not a safe idea. She will hear nothing of it and, while I am busy discussing this with her aunt, Regina is busy stuffing the sleeping baby into my back seat. This is pretty much how every interaction with this family goes. Finally, we decided that the baby would go to Regina’s actual parents’ house to sleep, and we would continue on with her other cousin, Theranesha (nicknamed, Nesha), to bake snacks for tomorrow.
When we arrive at her parent’s house, her father comes out to meet me. This comes as a surprise to me because most of the children at Gentilly are raised by single mothers. However, he is no Bill Cosby or Howard Cunningham. He has is probably early-30’s, tall, wearing an outfit straight from a FUBU ad, complete with a small pistol hung from a Taco Bell lanyard around his neck. I’m not making this up. Who knows if it was real, but it was shiny... which attracted enough attention to know I didn’t really want to find out. He was cordial enough, shook my hand, invited me in to meet the family (which I politely declined and waved at them from the door instead). Back in the car, I comment that Regina’s dad seems nice enough, for which she and Nesha both scoffed and said “yeah, he seems nice enough, but he’ll give you a poppin’.” Needing clarification, I started gently, “Do you mean he gives you a spanking?” They laughed and said, “No, he’ll beat you” which then leads her on a long tour of different places on her body where she has gone to school with a bruise or burn and been questioned by her teachers. Then, she breaks in to his prison record, which has mostly to do with what I can only expect would be drunk driving charges.
Time at my apartment, baking cookies, painting nails, playing with make-up and watching movies was nice. It felt like three eight-year old girls getting together for a slumber-party, but it was short lived. By 5PM, we were headed back. When we got back to Regina’s house, I was sad to see her go back in to that dysfunctional, unsafe environment, but there was little I could do. Just as I was about to pull away from the curb, I saw her father flag me down. Regina had already gone inside at this point, and I was left alone with this man. I rolled down my window ¼ of the way, expecting him to ask me about Regina or something. Who knows what I thought he was going to ask, but none of my possible options had included, “Will you take me to the store? I need some aspirin.” Quickly, I pulled open my console, and there, sitting like salvation, was a half-empty bottle of Excedrin. I passed it to him through the crack in the window and thought we were taken care of. Then, he looks at it, says thanks, and asks again if I will take him to the store. Thankfully, I had plans immediately following, and used that as an excuse. As I sat there, laughing at this strange situation in my head, looking at this guy’s pistol and recalling his track record, I can’t believe I didn’t feel any fear. As I pulled away, perhaps as a release of emotion, I said out loud to myself, no one around, “Of course I’m not taking you to the store; You’ve got a pistol strapped to a lanyard around your neck.”
As I recap this story, the underlying thoughts here are “how on earth can we help this situation, and the millions of others that are represented by it?” I thought that I would have to go to Russia or Bosnia to find a foreign mission field, but New Orleans has proven to be foreign enough. I am one person, and the need seems so great. Although this sounds like the making of a great story, which will later be turned in to a dramatic movie on Lifetime, hopefully played by someone other than Brooke Shields, it only has a good ending if the Spirit of the Lord will fall on this city, and this church, and this community. If the Spirit will bring conviction, and my own hands are ready and enabled by time spent with the Lord. Father, may this burdened spirit and troubling situation ignite change through your power.
When Jesus comes he comes in power
He pours down his spirit like a shower
O you give us freedom and joy in your presence Lord
In your presence we're free
O let us shout and dance and lift up our hands and sing cause we are free
And He loves to come a fill me up
He loves to overflow my cup
He loves to come and bring his touch to my heart
He turns my mourning into dancing
He turns my weeping into laughing
-Special thanks to Matt Redman, who gets what I’m talking about, but puts it much more beautifully into song than I can with mere words.
1 comment:
I love your way with words, Stephanie. :) I visited NOLA over my birthday weekend, and while I wasn't able to interact with people on the life-level like you do every day, the differences are so glaring they are impossible to ignore.
My friend Grace lives in NOLA, too, teaching high school geometry. She's told me all kinds of stories about her students and the difficulties that accompany teaching children who grow up in homes like Regina's. She just wrapped up her first year, and she has one more year of her contract to go...all I know is that it's so incredibly exhausting. She pours her life into those kids, and most of the time they don't even try to succeed. :(
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