30 for 30: Part VIII

15) Today, Maggie and I had a great conversation about her day at school. Like all good fathers, I asked her what she learned about today. She's not yet jaded enough to mutter the non-committal "nothing" that I'll get from her in a few years, so she told me that she learned about the news. In Maggie's world, the big news of the day regarded hurricanes. Apparently they learned about Irene and, in the course of discussion talked about Katrina. Like most 5 year-olds, Maggie's chronology is a little off. She was uncertain if Katrina was an ongoing event or if it happened "back in the old days". (As funny as this sounds, Suzanne was pregnant with Maggie during the storm, so I guess those were the old days) As she mentioned Katrina, I looked at the date and realized that today was the anniversary.

And what an anniversary. Suzanne and I were still newlyweds, awaiting the birth of a little girl. I had just begun my last year of seminary in New Orleans and we were counting down the days until Maggie's arrival. We knew that there was a storm in the Gulf, but being well-seasoned residents of the coast, we didn't give it a lot of extra thought. During church Sunday morning, Bro. Teddie received word that the storm had strengthened to a Category 5 and we knew we had some decisions to make. I've never been one to evacuate, as I've always lived on high ground and in a well-built home. As I thought about Suzanne's delicate condition (7 1/2 months along) I decided to leave. We hopped in the car Sunday night and headed northeast to beautiful Albany, GA where we rode it out the storm with some of our family.

We got a good night's sleep on Sunday night and did everything we could find to do in Albany on Monday morning. Unfortunately, everything we could find to do occupied us for about 45 minutes. So, by 10 am we were back on hurricane watch. I was able to watch the local broadcast online, and the Weather Channel was available in the hotel. We watched the drama unfold from afar, with no real knowledge of what to expect when we got home.

You know the rest of the story, probably better than I do. We only lost a few shingles, while others lost everything. Along N. Wintzell and points South, some of my favorite spots and sights had been reduced to rubble. I felt like I'd been dropped into an alien world where home was there but would never be just the same again.

I got a message from the seminary the next day. The campus had received little significant damage and we would go back to class at the start of the next week. Then, the levees broke. I wouldn't return to New Orleans until May, this time as a member of the "Katrina class". We had finished our studies online, through correspondence, and at extension centers. Nonetheless, we were graduates. If seeing the Bayou after Katrina had been a nightmare for its familiarity, New Orleans was as bad for its scope. The only hotel rooms we could find were in the French Quarter, so with my wife and new baby in tow, we headed in for the night, preparing for a big day on Saturday.

Normally, I have no trepidation about the Quarter. I know it well. I've visited often. I'm just not the skittish type. This night was somehow different. New Orleans felt strange and different. The majority of the folks I encountered seemed like survivors of an apocalypse, discovering meaning a landscape that had been forever altered by the times and tides of nature. The next day, the seminary chapel was open for business for the first time since the storm came ashore. It was a day of celebration and tears, like all graduations. Naturally, all of those emotions were intensified as many of us were reunited for the first time, post-Katrina.

The night before graduation, we had the opportunity to join two dear friends and their wives for a night out to eat at on old favorite haunt in the Quarter. It was a good night with good friends but we all commented on the state of the Quarter. What was it that was so different from any other trip I had ever made? Then I came to the moment of realization: The smell was gone.

16) If you've ever visited the Quarter, you know what I'm talking about. If you've not, one of the peculiarities of the French Quarter is its distinctive smell. I'm not sure that anyone knows what all of the major components of this smell are, but none of them are particularly pleasant. In combination, they produce a stench that more sensitive nostrils will find particularly disagreeable. For all of the ambiance that this district offers, the smell can be difficult for a first-time visitor to overcome.

On this night, the smell was gone. It seemed that the flood waters and recovery had taken it away, if only for a little while. As the waters receded, they left behind a scent of hope. Everywhere I traveled in the days following Katrina, up and down the Coast, you could sense it. Even in the midst of destruction beyond my feeble imaginings, people were finding hope.

Maggie has had some questions about hurricanes, and I'm afraid I don't have very many good answers. She's never experienced one and can't understand why they happen. Neither can I. I've received good theological training and I know the textbook answers. I figure God doesn't need me to defend Him. He does a pretty good job of that on His own. Like everyone else, I find myself in the wake of tragedy wondering about the why. Then I find it. Not the why, but the hope. I don't know why God floods my little plot of Earth sometimes, but when the waters receded, we always found hope.

Sunday night, I preached about Noah and the Ark. Regardless of your position on biblical inspiration and inerrancy, Noah's story is fascinating. In a day where God flooded the entirety of the earth and delivered out one man and his family alive, I imagine that hope was hard to come by. When Noah and his boys emerged from the ark onto dry ground, I can't imagine what they were confronted with. I suppose if it were me, a flood of emotion would overwhelm me as I faced the reality of a home that would never be like it was. Noah found hope, a new order, a covenant with God, and a promise of unending faithfulness. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, the smell was gone.

Tonight, as I think about the destruction of a region, the death of over 1,800 people, and the psychological impact of the devastation, I'm thankful that there's hope. I find myself wondering what in the world is going on in the world from time to time, but then I remember hope. Hope for today and for a future. For the promise that the day is coming when all of the storms will have passed:


16 So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Another storm will come, let's hold on to the hope of the unseen.

30 for 30: Part VII

13) Saturday night, we had the opportunity to participate in one of the great fellowship activities that were once a staple in the churches of the Deep South: The Saturday night Gospel Singin' and Fish Fry. If you've never had the opportunity to participate in one of these events, I pity you for having never really lived. Congregants at the Gospel Singin' and Fish Fry can be divided into two primary categories: the music lovers and the foodies. The music lovers just love to hear a good old gospel song and will be at whichever church is going to be having some good live music. The foodies are there for the fish, which are generally the star attraction. One subset of these foodies are the cooks, which are primarily middle-aged and older men. There's a certain level of expertise that's necessary to properly fry fish. Each of these cooks will have his own opinions on the process, quality and variety of fish, and the appropriate number of samples per cook. This is a highly scientific process, and the cooks should never be questioned.

Towards the end of the singing, Joseph started get tired. He made his way towards the front pew where I was sitting and he laid down with his head in my lap while we listened to the final number. As we prepared to dismiss for the fish fry, I spoke to several of the evening's musicians and I noticed one of the men looking at Joseph with a little glimmer in his eye. He told me that he couldn't help but notice me holding my boy and it reminded him of when his son was the same age. His son will go into harm's way as he is deployed to the Middle East in the next few weeks.

14) As he told me about his boy, I couldn't help but think of mine. Today we're playing dinosaurs, tomorrow it will be high school, and the next day I'll have grandchildren. Maybe one day it will be my boy who wears a US military uniform and defends my freedom. Regardless, adulthood is around the corner and the remaining hours of his childhood are fleeting and few. I wonder if I'm making the most of them. Does he get the best of time and attention? Does he find in his father a man worth emulating? Has he seen in me the hero that he can one day measure his life by? Will I be that man, before it's too late? I hope so. That day will come too soon, but tonight I've got a little guy to hug goodnight.

30 for 30: Part VI

11) I had one of my favorite suppers after church tonight. Yesterday at lunch, the family and I joined my parents, aunt, uncle, and sister at a restaurant in Baldwin County. Yesterday's meal: Mahi-Mahi tacos. I like fish tacos and was really looking forward to these. Grilled fish, corn tortillas, black beans, cheese, cabbage, and a spicy crema all combined for a meal that was, in all honesty, just pretty good. Tonight, I had a hot dog and it was divine. I like food, in all its many varieties, but the older I get, the more I'm drawn to simple flavors. Perhaps the problem is that my palate isn't sophisticated enough to enjoy 43 different flavors at one time, but I found myself wanting to deconstruct my fish tacos. Taste bud confusion overwhelmed me. My hot dogs (with chili and cheese) caused no such problems. I know that many of my more cultured readers (who am I kidding, none of my readers are cultured!) may have a negative attitude toward the hot dog, but I'm a big fan personally. I don't know that I could have been more satisfied by a ribeye than I was by my hot dog. Maybe all of that stuff about the simple things in life is right...

12) I've spent a lot of time this week thinking about the issue of contentment. I'm not good at finding contentment. I want to make things better or have more or improve things. Nowhere is this more evident than in my cooking. If a little bit of salt and pepper is good, then a lot of kosher salt and cayenne pepper would be better. When I cook, excess is the name of the game. On the plus side, when I cook we never run out. On the negative, sending me to the grocery store is a nightmare. Suzanne does her best to send me with specific instructions, but anything that catches my eye is up for grabs. I can't begin to tell you how many things I've snagged without my wife's consent. (We have a pack of couscous in a drawer at our house. It moved here with us. I saw couscous on sale and decided that I would cook it. The only problem with this plan was that I don't particularly care for couscous.)

Perhaps I should learn from my excess. Would I do well to enjoy more hot dogs and not invest in the Mahi tacos? Can I embrace the simple tastes and pleasures that I find more fulfilling? Will I learn moderation, after 30 years of roundly rejecting it? These questions and more, to be answered in my next 30 years!

30 for 30: Part V

9) I've got great kids, but they're growing up too fast. Tomorrow will be a big day in the life of the Landry family. With the start of the new school year, Suzanne will be heading back to work, Amelia has begun her day-care career, and Maggie will begin kindergarten. After daycare and preschool at Dixon last year, the moment has arrived and she will walk into her first big-girl classroom. Unexpectedly, we found out last week that Joseph would also be going to "big boy" school. The door opened for Joseph to participate in pre-K at Collier Elementary School and we were excited for the opportunity. Friday, I took Joseph to register, meet his teacher, and see the school. He did great, but I was a little overwhelmed.

Preparation for the school year has caused me to reflect on my relationship with my kids. I don't know that I would classify myself as father of the year material, but I hope that I'm doing a good job. One thing that is certain is that they have my heart. Tomorrow, they go to a place that is outside of the realm of my control. As it turns out, I know both of their teachers on a personal level and have every confidence in their ability to care for and nurture my children emotionally and intellectually. I'm excited for them, but I'm a bit nervous at the same time. How have you parents of adults done it?

10) I guess that letting go is harder than I ever thought it would be. I suppose that tomorrow marks a moment in my children's lives in which they will begin to make their own way in the world. They will begin to establish identities separate from their parents. I'm excited and have no doubts that they will do well. As their father, I'm certain that my kids are the brightest, most beautiful, and most lovable children that have ever graced our planet. I can't imagine them not excelling. I remember going to school once upon a time, though. Someone will be mean. There will be fights, scraped knees, hurt feelings, and subjects that are difficult to grasp. I'd give anything to be able to protect them from all of it, but I can't.

So what can I do? As best I can tell I'm limited to three things:
A) Instruction: What am I pouring into the lives of my children? Have I directed them into paths of righteousness? Am I teaching them the right way to live? Will they know how to treat others with respect and to follow instructions? Will I continue to correct and discipline moving forward?

B) Love: Have I offered my children unconditional love? Will I be willing to love them through listening? When they hurt, will they recognize that they can come to me and experience my love, before they listen to my wisdom? Will they carry hearts so full of their parents' love that they will be difficult to injure?

C) Prayer: I did something I don't usually do with my children tonight. We try to have a regular nightly prayer time with our kids, but this evening I called them to come sit in my lap and told them that I wanted to have a special prayer for them. I laid my hands on those two babies and prayed specifically for each of them and the start of their new school year. This won't be the last time that I do it. Will my children experience God's blessing as a result of a father who is faithful to intercede on their behalf?

30 for 30: Part IV

7)At 30, mowing the grass has taken on a whole new significance in my life. Today, I was excited about mowing grass after work. How did I reach this place? As a young boy, I was fascinated by this activity. As I watched my dad mow the grass, it seemed like a great opportunity to display my mastery over both lawn and machine. Mowing grass appeared to be a very grown-up thing to do. Not long afterwards, I got the opportunity to move from spectator to participant. At 7, I had my first opportunity to operate the Yazoo. If you've never had the chance to use a Yazoo pushmower, you've missed out on the Cadillac of mowers. I quickly discovered that, regardless of the quality of the equipment, mowing is a lot like work. In Bayou La Batre, Alabama, it is particularly hot work in vegetation that could best be classified as Amazonian. I rebelled against yardwork. Not actively, but my passive-aggressive streak helped me to do the job poorly and with a negative attitude. I did the best I could to avoid the task by any means necessary. I also pouted. This inspired one of my dad's often repeated phrases: "You're going to do it and you're going to like it".

I'm no longer a preteen and nobody is lovingly instructing me to get my behind in gear and mow the grass. I'm blessed by a wonderful church where people regularly offer to mow the grass at the pastorium. I seldom take them up on the offer, because I enjoy my time on the tractor. For a few hours this afternoon, I was able to relax and enjoy a bit of time working outdoors and accomplishing a necessary task. What in the world has happened to me?

8) I think that maybe on some level what has happened to me is that I am beginning to understand the concept of dominion is recorded in the Genesis account of Creation.

And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” Genesis 1:28

I grew up surrounded by people who were close to the earth. On my mother's side, the family earned their living off of the bounty of the land. Over the years, I watched and helped as Grandpa raised soybeans, corn, and cotton. At the shipyard, we were dependent on the bounty of the sea to bring in business, and Dad paid careful attention to the state of each season's haul. In south Mobile County, our traditional means of livelihood are closely intertwined with the harvest of the earth and seas.

I've lost most of that connection. My vocation doesn't require it. I don't have a garden and I only fish recreationally. That leaves me with my yard. My only opportunity to exercise dominion over creation and subdue the earth occurs on this plot of land. Hopefully, I've done my part to keep the second commandment to mankind today!

30 for 30: Part III

Part I:
Part II:

5) Life calls for a few indulgences. I really do wish I was more disciplined and I have a great admiration for people who demonstrate a high-level of personal discipline on a regular basis. I attempt to discipline myself and I'd like to think that I do well in certain areas. Today was an ice cream day, however. I volunteered to help with supper tonight and made a quick trip to Greer's to pick up a few things for the meal. Upon exiting the store, Suzanne called to remind me to get Pedialyte for Amelia. You see, after Suzanne had an appointment today and Maggie got a cap on her trip to the dentist, Amelia was diagnosed with a nasty case of hand, foot, and mouth disease. I headed down to CVS to pick up the Pedialyte and came to an important realization: My family needs ice cream tonight. As luck would have it, the Edy's was on sale, so we got ice cream. After supper, Maggie and I sat down to share a bowl of dulce de leche. It wasn't all that great, but I'm a firm believer that the only bad ice cream is that which is not found in my bowl. Tonight, my daughter and I shared a few moments of bliss. It was a waste of money and a waste of calories. It kept her up past her bedtime. It was completely worth it and I plan to do it again soon. I hope that I will embrace a more disciplined life in the days ahead, but I also hope that there will always be room for ice cream.

6) I wish that reality tv would die a quick painless death. Others have said it more eloquently, but I'm deeply saddened that my children will never know what a regular tv show looks like. As I write tonight's observations, the Food Network is playing in the background. I love the Food Network, but I would give anything if they would get rid of all of the horrible "competitions". I don't need to see anybody else make a big overly decorated cake or cupcake tower. I don't care about any of the interpersonal drama that gets "cooked up" (so punny!) on the show. I'd like an entertaining and informative look at where food comes from, how it can be prepared, and/or places that it is served. Also, Guy Fieri looks like Ed Hardy has decided to produce its own line of middle-aged men who are trying too hard to be edgy. But, I digress. People like Martin Luther King, Jr. had really important dreams, I just dream about a world without reality tv. Is that too much to ask for?