My most heartfelt prayer throughout this whole process is that my words will be inspired. Not forced, or simply listing details, but that they would weave chapters that tell a story as a whole. The truth? I don't know if I'm doing it right. But I'm working, writing with a good will, taking notes throughout the day so I don't forget something- or someone- important. We're all important. Even if our stories are incomplete to those around us, even if we never know what is being written in someone else's book, we are all valuable. I want to show the value in people.
Tuesday was mostly a travel day, as we made our way from Alabama to Mississippi, across bridges and creeks and marshes. We stopped in downtown Mobile to stretch our legs and grab some lunch. We ended up standing outside The Battle House Hotel, an old Renaissance style building that had been built in the 1800's, burned down, and rebuilt in the 1920's. Somehow, we got to talking to a hotel employee, Emilie, outside the doors, and the next thing we knew she was giving us a tour of "her" hotel, from the second floor all the way up to the Terrace Garden, including an incredible part of the architecture called the Whispering Arch, in which one person could stand at one end of the arch, another person stand at the other end 30+ feet away, whisper in the tiniest voice back and forth, and hear each other perfectly. Yes. We were a little too amazed. We played in the Whispering Arch for 10 minutes. And it turned out we didn't even have time to stop for lunch, we had spent so much time wandering around that old hotel, gasping in awe over the decor and ornateness of it all. Emilie was a sweet tour guide, with a childlike pride in her hotel. I'll never forget Emilie. I'll always look back on that tour with a smile, remembering the sweet lady who went above and beyond just to give a few tourists a special memory.
{Rabbit trail: I took a picture of a plaque in the lobby, stating that Andrew Jackson had once stayed there, to send to Ashton. When I talked to him on the phone that night, I told him all about the hotel, its Civil War history, and that Andrew Jackson had stayed there. He said, oh so casually, "Oh, the 7th president?"
"No, Bub!" I replied. "The president of the confederacy. During the Civil War!"
He harrumphed and said, "That was Jefferson Davis, Mom."
Um. He's 9. And I felt like the biggest idiot. I apologized and he told me, "That's ok, Mom, you didn't know."}
In Biloxi we met up with Terry, an old friend of Lesa's, who had been telling her coworkers all about us and our trip. Wednesday morning, we headed to her office in Gulfport to meet with some of them and pray, if they were willing. We knew some wouldn't be. But we knew some would need it. We prayed with a woman who initially said she didn't want us to, before we even got there. But she called Terry as we were pulling into the parking lot of the office building and told her she'd changed her mind. We were able to pray with her, for healing, for trust, and for her family.
After praying with her, we walked down the hall to meet Miss Irene, whom Terry had told us all about, and said that she was very eager to meet us. Miss Irene cooked lunch for the staff everyday (right?! Where can I get one of those??). As soon as we walked into the kitchen, the most heavenly smells and the sweetest, calming atmosphere rushed over me. I inhaled deeply, sighed happily. Inhaled again. I felt tension in my shoulders relax, and felt all the dry patches in my soul lapping up that sweet presence. Miss Irene possesses one of the most peaceful, calming auras I've ever encountered. My eyes pricked with tears as I realized just how tense and tired I had been, until I walked into that kitchen. She wore a black skirt and colorful blouse, with a little lace cover pinned to her hair. Her eyes and smile are sweet and joyful. As we talked with her, her slow, deliberate southern accent washed over me like warm honey, like towels fresh out of the dryer, like catching a breeze carrying the cry of seagulls on a hot beach. She told us how she got into cooking- "One day I started and I just couldn't stop! I cooked for 5 hours straight and I said to The Lord, 'You gonna have to let me sit down!' But even still, I couldn't stop."- and asked us to pray for strength for her. We gathered around and held hands, shoulders tight together, an unbroken circle with no chinks. This, I thought. This is how women should be. Shoulder to shoulder, no gaps, no weaknesses. Strong in each others' strength, leaning hard on each other. The peace in that room rolled around in undulating waves. We stood right there in the kitchen, and prayed God's strength over Miss Irene, His blessings and grace... And we were only interrupted once while Irene had to go check on her bread. And then, she turned around and prayed for us! She blessed us extravagantly with her heartfelt words over us. She hugged us close and warm, whispered in our ears, sweet whispers from a mothering heart. When we were done praying, I looked up on my phone the meaning of the name "Irene". I was both surprised and a little unsurprised to find out it means "Peace". How like God. To name us in the womb, to call us what we are. When Irene was born, her mother looked at her and decreed that she would be called "Peace". And she is.
We also had a chance to pray with Terry. Lesa and Terry go way back, and it was wonderful to see Lesa praying over her dear friend with a tender heart.
In Biloxi we met up with Terry, an old friend of Lesa's, who had been telling her coworkers all about us and our trip. Wednesday morning, we headed to her office in Gulfport to meet with some of them and pray, if they were willing. We knew some wouldn't be. But we knew some would need it. We prayed with a woman who initially said she didn't want us to, before we even got there. But she called Terry as we were pulling into the parking lot of the office building and told her she'd changed her mind. We were able to pray with her, for healing, for trust, and for her family.
After praying with her, we walked down the hall to meet Miss Irene, whom Terry had told us all about, and said that she was very eager to meet us. Miss Irene cooked lunch for the staff everyday (right?! Where can I get one of those??). As soon as we walked into the kitchen, the most heavenly smells and the sweetest, calming atmosphere rushed over me. I inhaled deeply, sighed happily. Inhaled again. I felt tension in my shoulders relax, and felt all the dry patches in my soul lapping up that sweet presence. Miss Irene possesses one of the most peaceful, calming auras I've ever encountered. My eyes pricked with tears as I realized just how tense and tired I had been, until I walked into that kitchen. She wore a black skirt and colorful blouse, with a little lace cover pinned to her hair. Her eyes and smile are sweet and joyful. As we talked with her, her slow, deliberate southern accent washed over me like warm honey, like towels fresh out of the dryer, like catching a breeze carrying the cry of seagulls on a hot beach. She told us how she got into cooking- "One day I started and I just couldn't stop! I cooked for 5 hours straight and I said to The Lord, 'You gonna have to let me sit down!' But even still, I couldn't stop."- and asked us to pray for strength for her. We gathered around and held hands, shoulders tight together, an unbroken circle with no chinks. This, I thought. This is how women should be. Shoulder to shoulder, no gaps, no weaknesses. Strong in each others' strength, leaning hard on each other. The peace in that room rolled around in undulating waves. We stood right there in the kitchen, and prayed God's strength over Miss Irene, His blessings and grace... And we were only interrupted once while Irene had to go check on her bread. And then, she turned around and prayed for us! She blessed us extravagantly with her heartfelt words over us. She hugged us close and warm, whispered in our ears, sweet whispers from a mothering heart. When we were done praying, I looked up on my phone the meaning of the name "Irene". I was both surprised and a little unsurprised to find out it means "Peace". How like God. To name us in the womb, to call us what we are. When Irene was born, her mother looked at her and decreed that she would be called "Peace". And she is.
We also had a chance to pray with Terry. Lesa and Terry go way back, and it was wonderful to see Lesa praying over her dear friend with a tender heart.
{Another rabbit trail: I am so proud, and so honored, to be a part of this group of women. I have watched them, just in the past 5 days, stretch and grow, root and branch, into mighty women. There is something so humbling in watching your dearest friends take their place in the line, the place that is meant just for them, and to flourish in it. I can't even wrap my head around it most days. I look at us and I think, "Are we really doing this?"}
At the end of our time praying with Terry, we were all blubbering messes (women really do have more fun, fellas), wrung out and hung to dry.
We made one more stop at a shelter that feeds the homeless, but they were stocked up on volunteers. They told us we were welcome to go outside and minister to anyone we came in contact with, but not to give them money, offer them rides, or make any kind of promises.
Well. That's a little scary.
We walked outside and stood in the gravel parking lot, the sun beating down on us, shading our eyes to see if there was anyone to talk to. I shifted my weight back and forth, gravel getting stuck in between my toes in my sandals. These are the situations I'm not comfortable with. It sounds ironic, maybe even hypocritical- although that's not my heart at all- but I am extremely intimidated by "street people". And here we were, in a gravel parking lot full of them. This was the stretching, then.
We weren't waiting for very long before a woman in a pink shirt walked by and chirped out a greeting to us. Her face was creased with wrinkles and crows feet, but she had a smile for us. She told us her name was Jackie, and we told her we were just waiting for someone to pray with. Jackie asked us to pray for her throat, as it had been bothering her for weeks and she was going to head to the clinic down the road. As we prayed, I looked down at her feet. They were scraped and blistered and cut inside her foam flip flops. I wanted to sit down right there and bathe them for her. Friends... I didn't.
I promised I would always be honest; that doesn't mean I'll always be proud of my actions or inactions.
I told myself I didn't want to embarrass her, I didn't know where I would get the things I needed to clean her feet, she was on the way to the doctor anyway. But I'll always wish I had done it.
We're all learning life in the living of it. I wish I could learn it all before I had to live my mistakes. But I can't. I may have missed it with Jackie that afternoon, I don't know. But I keep seeing her poor feet in my mind, wishing I would have bandaged them for her. Does that make me a failure? No. But it makes me a little wiser.
When we finished praying for Jackie, she continued holding onto our hands and prayed for us as well. This has happened more than I would have dreamed of. Complete strangers, people who we want to bless, are turning around and blessing us in return. One of Lesa's favorite things to say (and she says it a lot. A lot.), is that with God, everybody wins. There are no losers in the kingdom of God. Everybody wins. We've been winning so much on this trip. We've won laughter. We've won tears. We've won grace upon grace, favor upon favor. And we've won lessons. I've won some the hard way. But nevertheless, I'm winning.
We left Gulfport and drove to New Orleans, the city I've been anticipating most on this whole trip.
But New Orleans will have to be part two.
-M
{{Days 5 & 6 Photo Dump}}
Well. That's a little scary.
We walked outside and stood in the gravel parking lot, the sun beating down on us, shading our eyes to see if there was anyone to talk to. I shifted my weight back and forth, gravel getting stuck in between my toes in my sandals. These are the situations I'm not comfortable with. It sounds ironic, maybe even hypocritical- although that's not my heart at all- but I am extremely intimidated by "street people". And here we were, in a gravel parking lot full of them. This was the stretching, then.
We weren't waiting for very long before a woman in a pink shirt walked by and chirped out a greeting to us. Her face was creased with wrinkles and crows feet, but she had a smile for us. She told us her name was Jackie, and we told her we were just waiting for someone to pray with. Jackie asked us to pray for her throat, as it had been bothering her for weeks and she was going to head to the clinic down the road. As we prayed, I looked down at her feet. They were scraped and blistered and cut inside her foam flip flops. I wanted to sit down right there and bathe them for her. Friends... I didn't.
I promised I would always be honest; that doesn't mean I'll always be proud of my actions or inactions.
I told myself I didn't want to embarrass her, I didn't know where I would get the things I needed to clean her feet, she was on the way to the doctor anyway. But I'll always wish I had done it.
We're all learning life in the living of it. I wish I could learn it all before I had to live my mistakes. But I can't. I may have missed it with Jackie that afternoon, I don't know. But I keep seeing her poor feet in my mind, wishing I would have bandaged them for her. Does that make me a failure? No. But it makes me a little wiser.
When we finished praying for Jackie, she continued holding onto our hands and prayed for us as well. This has happened more than I would have dreamed of. Complete strangers, people who we want to bless, are turning around and blessing us in return. One of Lesa's favorite things to say (and she says it a lot. A lot.), is that with God, everybody wins. There are no losers in the kingdom of God. Everybody wins. We've been winning so much on this trip. We've won laughter. We've won tears. We've won grace upon grace, favor upon favor. And we've won lessons. I've won some the hard way. But nevertheless, I'm winning.
We left Gulfport and drove to New Orleans, the city I've been anticipating most on this whole trip.
But New Orleans will have to be part two.
-M
{{Days 5 & 6 Photo Dump}}
Praying with Jackie in the gravel lot
The Whispering Arch
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