Leaving

Saturday was one of the toughest days I've had in a very long time. Saying goodbye is not something that comes easy when you don't know how long you'll be apart from somewhere. It was like a piece of my heart was being left behind as I drove further and further away - memories flooding my mind as tears fell from my eyes.

This past week was my fourth in New Orleans since Katrina. The experiences I've had there have been amazing; the relationships formed will last a lifetime and beyond. But that's not all. South Carolina is my home, yes, but if I have a second home, it is Louisiana. Three years of my live have been spent there. My brother was born there. It is a home to me. We moved back to SC in 1995. As we drove along I-12 and then I-10 in November, I did everything I could to hold back the tears. This time, nothing could stop them.

It was that same road we drove down to come back home for Thanksgiving in '93 when I missed all of my family in SC so much. It was the same road we drove down in the wee hours of the morning the day my great-grandfather died. It was the same road as I rode with my mom in our bright red Chrysler minivan that, just 2 miles before Mississippi, a piece of gravel flew up and cracked the windshield. Three years of living in the state with everyone else getting cracks, ours came just two minutes before we left for good.

My first memories of Brooks are in Louisiana... after all, he was born there. I remember when Dad brought him through the front door of our house and he was home. I remember holding him in the blue and white striped chair in our den so happy that I was finally a big brother. I remember the pool in the backyard, playing with Carly (who is still going strong at 14 years old now), meeting some incredible friends who welcomed a stranger.

I remember driving down I-10 every few weeks to New Orleans to see the sights and sounds of such an amazing city. I remember the fun and mystery the city had to offer. The Audubon Zoo. The aquarium. The river. The Cathedral. Margaritaville. The lake. The music. The jazz. Everything. There was so much. It was a place I came to love.

Nine months ago I did everything I could to hold back the tears. Driving up and down street after street after street... homes with water lines up to their shingles endlessly scrolling past the window. I got home and cried my eyes out for days. I knew then I'd go back as many times as I could. I knew then that my heart was being split between my home and my second home. It still is today.

To truly see what is there, you have to look past the few dozen bars on Bourbon Street. You have to look past the crime rate caused by less than 1% of the people there. You have to look past any stereotypes you've come to spread. You have to go. You have to see. You have to feel the love that these people have. So many have said that Katrina was sent by God to desecrate a city of sin. The thought that people believe this makes me cry. Look in your on backyard. Look at yourself. If you're without sin, then go ahead and cast the first stone. If not, why didn't God send Katrina to flood your house?

I've known New Orleans before and after this storm. I've loved New Orleans before and after this storm. I've been loved by those of New Orleans before and after this storm. Love is there. Only if you look. If you do look, you will find it. You will be loved. You will be blessed.

Our God is a god of Love. I've experienced this Love in New Orleans. I've experienced this God in New Orleans. God is there. Go. Look. Find.

To everyone in New Orleans, St. Bernard's Parish, Jefferson Parish, and everywhere else in Louisiana: I love you. We love you. Our prayers are with you. May the God of peace and love watch over you and bless you until we meet again.

Goodbye is not forever. We'll be back. There is a Light at the end of this tunnel... for you.

overflowing with a love greater than my own,
chris