Preparing for Russia (Part 1)

Five short days from now, I board a plane bound for New York City. In NYC I connect with a flight bound for Moscow, Russia. I’m excited about going, but I’m not quite ready to go. Nothing is packed.

I suspect that my bags will be heavy. I just checked the 10-day forecast for Moscow and warm clothes will be a must. It’s going to be cold. The warmest day will be Jan. 7 (Orthodox Christmas) – 26 degrees. There should be snow on the ground when we arrive Jan. 5. Snow is forecast for Jan. 6-9. I’m looking forward to a white Christmas.

My Notebook

I am also excited about my new Moleskine City Notebook – Mockva.

I started using Moleskine journals/notebooks in 2008. My friend Michael had one and I liked it. Then I read Moleskine’s marketing. According to the company, Hemingway, Picasso and Van Gogh all used these notebooks. Man! I wanted to join in the Moleskine tradition. I guess I’m defenseless against marketers.

My first Moleskine purchase was a three-pack of “cahier” journals. These small, passport-sized notebooks fit easily in your pocket – great of quick notes and observations. The journals served me well during Hurricane Gustav. The notes I scribbled each day helped me produce news stories and updates about the storm in record time. I carried a Moleskine journal with me down Route 66 to the Grand Canyon last summer. My slightly bent journal from that trip contains notes, lists and several sketches of the canyon and the Wigwam Motel. Sadly, I didn’t write more in the journal on the Grand Canyon trip – most of my notes were typed directly into Facebook.

When I saw that a City Notebook was available for Moscow, I had to have it. The City Notebook has pages and pages of color city maps, a Metro (subway) map and lot’s of pages for notes. They call it “the guidebook you write yourself.” I like that. One of the neatest features is the small supply of transparent “sticky note” sheets you can lay over your maps to draw out your route. Of course it has an expandable pocket in the back to store loose items. I hope to fill the notebook with memories and observations – I start writing in it early Monday morning – I have to be at the airport by 4 a.m.

Dasvidaniya (Goodbye)!

Christmas in Moscow

I’ll have a white Christmas, that much is sure. I’m spending Christmas in Russia. No, not December 25. I’ll be in New Orleans with my family that day. Orthodox Christians celebrate Christmas on January 7. So I’ll experience a white Christmas in Moscow this year … or … next year … in Russia.

The reason for going – a mission trip. Our team will prayer walk, distribute flyers, worship with Russian Baptists and fellowship with American missionaries. Most of all, we are trying to share the love of Christ with the busy people in the sprawling city of Moscow.

Of course we’ll take time visit Red Square and the Kermlin and we’ll take photos in front of St. Basil’s. I’ll be working on several articles during this quick trip – Jan. 4-11. I hope to blog during the trip if I can find an Internet connection.

Back home in New Orleans, King Cakes will begin appearing on Jan. 6 – Epiphany. Twelve days after Christmas, Epiphany commemorates the visit of the Magi after Jesus’ birth. King Cakes are bread-like pastries than represent the “kings’” journey. Quite tasty.

I’m excited about the trip to Russia. And am excited about my first King Cake of the new year even if it comes a week late.

Katrina Stuff: Resolution

I planned to finish up my Katrina notes long before now, but with the start of school at NOBTS (my job) and UNO (Kimberly’s job) things got really busy at the office and at home. Over Labor Day we went on a family mission trip to Atlanta. Then I battled cold and sinus troubles.

As I finally sat down to write, I realized just how hard my task would be. I wanted to capture the way this event has changed me and made me better. More than that, I wanted to say that this bad event in my life has been redeemed. The storm continues the impact my life on a daily basis. So many lessons have been learned; so many more to be learned.

Some people just want me and the millions affected by Katrina to “get over it.” I understand that sentiment, but I cannot simply dismiss this teachable moment in my life. I cannot live as if it never happened. That would be a tragic waste.

I recently told a friend that Katrina was the “best worst” thing that ever happened to me. Okay, Katrina is not literally “the best” thing that ever happened to me (trusting Christ, marrying Kimberly and Jonathan’s birth all top Katrina on the “goodness” scale). Katrina is not the worst thing either. My Dad’s sudden death when I was 14 is easily THE WORST thing I have experienced. But the phrase “best worst thing” captures many of the emotions I feel about the storm, the recovery and the peace I have about the outcome.

Along with all the bad that blew in during the storm and the immediate aftermath, came a very positive restoration process. Katrina left an indelible mark on my life – it changed my point of view, sharpened my focus and stirred my passions. I don’t want to “get over” those things.

One of the funniest things that happened in the aftermath of the storm – I became an award-winning writer. I am sure my college English teachers would call for a recount (I am a product of good editors). I certainly didn’t feel like an “award-winning writer” at work today as a struggled to complete a writing assignment. But seriously, the awards came from my peers and I was honored to receive them. I know the awards were more about power of the Katrina story and the people profiled in the articles than my writing skills.

Back to the issue at hand … The Bible talks about how God can take all the things that happen to us and use them for His purpose. “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” This verse (Romans 8:28) is found in one of the most powerful chapters found in Holy Scripture.

Consider jazz music for a moment -- one the Crescent City’s major contributions to the world.

The next time you hear jazz on the radio, listen closely. Listen to the layers. You might be surprised. Most jazz tunes have a lot going on. I’m listening to jazz as I write this. The pianist is doing this, the drummer is doing that. There goes the bassist. And this song is being performed by jazz trio. Imagine how a few horns could complicate things.

As you listen to jazz, try to isolate each instrument. Individually the musicians are all over the place. It’s really hard to believe that all this is going on in the same song. At any point it seems like the whole thing is one step away from falling into chaos. But it all comes together to make something beautiful.

At any given time, we have so many things coming our way -- pain, disappointment, joy, sorrow, anxiety, happiness and regret. We lose the ones we love. We reach great heights of joy. We slip to the deepest lows. We get ourselves into trouble with our own selfish actions. Bad things happen that are totally out of our control. Sometimes our dreams come true.

“Listen” to each one of these events alone and you don’t “hear the richness of the complete “song.” You don’t hear the “symphony.” Each event seems unrelated and unredeemable. But in the hands of God, our lives and circumstances somehow come together to make something beautiful – something with a rich purpose.

That’s how I feel about Katrina. Katrina was not good. People died. The city was destroyed. But somehow, God brought forth good out of a bad thing and it’s something I cannot and will not “get over.”

“Many, O LORD my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.” Psalm 40:5

Katrina Stuff

I met a number of people on the first anniversary of Katrina, but two of them stand out. I met the president of the United States that day. I have an autographed photo to prove it. I also met Miss Carolyn, a long-time New Orleanian. She’s not rich or famous, but I’m happy I met her just the same.

On Aug. 29, 2006, the seminary community spread out across the city to work at 25-30 different sites. Seven hundred students, faculty and staff gutted homes, cleaned lots, mowed yards, cut down high weeds, and built houses. My plan was to visit at least a third of the sites and write an article about all the ways the seminary served the hurting community. It was a great day

That morning, I heard that George W. Bush might make a stop at the Habitat for Humanity/Baptist Crossroads site. I quickly went to the site, because I knew that it would be locked down at some point if the president was really planning a visit. The students and professors were already at work when I arrived, so I began taking photos and interviewing them as they worked. I even had the chance to cut a few boards and nail up siding. No word of a potential visit from the President. We did see lots of Coast Guard and military helicopters throughout the morning. For a moment, I thought I saw a Secret Service agent in the third floor of the abandoned William Frantz Elementary school building two blocks away … but that could have been my imagination. (Lagniappe: Google William Frantz Elementary for a great history lesson.)

About mid-morning, the Habitat staff asked us to take a break and moved us to the parking lot near the front of the site. As we left, the Secret Service moved in to secure the area. We were informed that we would be meeting the President shortly. They made us leave our cameras and cell phones and ushered us to a line of big, menacing Secret Service agents. I tried to play the media card and bring in my camera, but it didn’t work. I had to leave my camera.

Once the site was secure, we returned to work. Before long, we were separated into two groups and President Bush came out to greet us. I happened to be wearing a Yale University shirt. The shirt immediately caught his eye. As you probably know, Yale is Mr. Bush’s alma mater. I didn’t even think about what I was wearing until Mr. Bush asked me, “Are you a Yale man?” It was one of the first things he said to the group.

I made some stupid response. What I should have said was: “No sir. Country hicks buy a t-shirt when they visit Ivy League schools – so I bought a shirt when I visited.”

Mr. Bush discovered that we were from the seminary and thanked us for what we were doing to help the city recover. His words were brief, but thoughtful and kind. Then he came and spoke to each one of us and shook our hands. Before he left, our group prayed for him. You could tell that meant a lot to him. Mr. Bush struck me as a person who really cared about the people of New Orleans. His grateful response to the prayer let me know that the men who serve in the top office in our country carry a heavy burden (so remember to pray for Mr. Obama – now he’s carrying that burden). Of course, I wrote an article about our brief visit with the President. About three weeks later, I received an autographed photo from the White House.

It was exciting to meet the President – a rare treat for someone who grew up 17 miles from a town of 325 people. But the real treat of the day was meeting Miss Carolyn. Carolyn lives just across the street from the Baptist Crossroads Project. I met Carolyn and her daughter as we were preparing to meet the President. Carolyn and her daughter had made a number of signs to commemorate the anniversary. Some of the signs were critical of FEMA, others were hopefully messages of faith.

I told Carolyn that I was writing an article and asked if I could interview her. She agreed to the interview and shared her story. Her small, but well-kept house had flooded during the storm and she had been struggling to repair it ever since.

Her family had waited three weeks for an electric meter. They could not get a FEMA trailer until the meter was in place. Work had started on her home, but it was a long way from completion.

“There are days that I am very hopeful. There are days that I think it’s not going to happen,” Carolyn told me. “I’m praying and asking God to get us back, to make us whole again. I’ve got to be hopeful, I can’t be nothing else. Look, we’ve already been down, there’s nowhere else to go but up.”

Carolyn was carrying lots of pain that day, but she still had faith and hope.

After she shared her Katrina story, she asked to hear mine. So I shared. She was genuinely concerned about me and my family. Miss Carolyn represents what I love about this city – the people.

Although we lived only about three miles apart, we lived in vastly different worlds – before and after the storm. I lived on a beautiful, safe campus with lots of trees and a majestic chapel. Before the storm, Carolyn’s neighborhood was plagued with blight and crime. After the storm, her neighborhood was a moldering mess. My world was already put back together, hers was not. But for a moment, on a street in the Upper Ninth Ward, we were neighbors – New Orleanians – and we shared the same disappointments, hopes and dreams.

I prayed with her, gave her hug and went on my way. Miss Carolyn played a prominent role in my article.

One year later, I went back to see Miss Carolyn. Things were so much better for her on the second anniversary. She was back in her home and her words (and the signs) were more hopeful than the year before. It was a great reunion. Again, Miss Carolyn was the star of my second anniversary article.

Links to the articles mentioned in this note:
http://www.nobts.edu/Publications/News/KatrinaMinistry8-06.html
http://www.nobts.edu/Publications/News/BushGreetsStudents.html
http://www.nobts.edu/Publications/News/KatrinaAnniv3.html

The Longest Day ever

NOTE: Today I am writing about things … things lost in Katrina and things salvaged. While I enjoy things, people are much more important. So, first I want to make that point clear. Katrina taught me that one can live without most of the material things we hold dear. Our stuff was in storage for eight months and we made it just fine. You cannot make it without family and friends.

--

On Oct. 6, 2005, Kimberly and I picked up a rental truck in Meridian, Miss., and made our way toward New Orleans. We would be sleeping on the floor at First Baptist Mandeville for the night. Three guys from Georgia (whom we had never met) planned to meet us there. They were on a mission trip to Gulfport, Miss., helping with hurricane relief at our old church. They heard we needed help and couldn’t resist the chance to see post-Katrina New Orleans.

Our small crew got up early Oct. 7 and hit the road around 5 a.m. We crossed Lake Ponchartrain on the 26-mile Causeway bridge from Mandeville to Metairie. It was slow going on the Causeway, lots of traffic. We reached New Orleans before dawn. And though I was eager to get started we took the long way to campus (I-10 rather than I-610). I-10 makes a deep loop toward downtown mirroring the curve of the Mississippi River (the “crescent” of the Crescent City). Ahead, I could see the lights of the Central Business District as we traveled south on I-10, but to my left, the Mid-City neighborhood was dark. In fact, most of the city was dark. We made the loop and headed north into darkness as we drove toward campus. Before long I saw a sight that gave me chills. It was the steeple of Leavell Chapel on our campus. It was lit … one small, shining light in a sea of darkness. It was very meaningful to me. The shining steeple could be seen from several miles in every direction. It was one moment of hope and happiness on an otherwise bleak day.

The campus was already buzzing with activity, just as it was when I was there two days earlier. We made our way to the back of campus to our building. We found are apartment much as we had left it (expect for the horrible smell). Kimberly had just stocked up on meat the week before we evacuated. The smell of rotting food (especially the meat) and the mold from the apartments below was overwhelming. The air was thick with humidity. Every porous thing in the apartment had picked up the dreaded smell. Books, clothes, towels, sheets, chairs, mattresses and our couch absorbed the smell. Enough about the smell for now. Unless you’ve helped clean out a flooded, molded home (or apartments above flooded homes) you wouldn’t understand.

Now I don’t know about you, but usually when we move, it takes us weeks to pack. This time we only had a day to pack, load and unload the truck. We worked hard all day packing and carrying things to the truck. We decided to leave some things that were not worth the effort to clean -- our worn-out couch, some of Jonathan’s stuffed toys and many other items. We also had to leave our washing machine. Somehow, flood water had backed up into the washer and had even spilled over into the laundry closet, the dining room and the hall closet. Talk about a smell. The smelly overflow water took out a few items in a hall closet.

As hard as we worked, we still ran out of time. We left many things that we wanted to take because we just didn’t have time to pack it up before the 6 p.m. campus closing time (the city was still under a night curfew).

Even four years after the storm I am still realizing the things we left at our apartment (that we didn’t want to leave). Just the other day I was looking for my large art board (which I had used since my sophomore year in college) and then remembered that it was ruined by the washing machine overflow water.

So with the help of the guys from Georgia and several members of the Oregon National Guard, we packed what we could and around 6 p.m. we headed for Meridian.

The day was a physical, emotional and mental assault - a battering of body, soul and mind. Seeing our flooded car, bikes, grill, Jonathan's wagon, etc., was tough. Then there was the guilt. We had been spared ... at least in comparison to our neighbors up and down the street who lost everything. We talked to people that day who were only able to salvage a few items, yet we had a whole (BIG) truckload of smelly stuff. We hurt for our neighbors because of what they lost. Then we dreaded the long process of cleaning our stuff that we were in for because so much was spared.

The usually 3.5 hour drive took about 4.5 due to extreme traffic flowing from the city. Kimberly’s Dad and brother met us in Meridian to help unload the truck. It was late and unloading took a while. We then had to gas the truck and return it.

I parked the truck at the rental place just about midnight and ran to the drop box with the keys and paperwork. I then ran to our van. We were ready for sleep. All the running took place under the watchful eye of a Meridian police officer. He pulled over to investigate. Just for a moment, I thought “I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.” But I didn’t. I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. I spoke first and laid it out plain and simple what we had been through that day and that I wasn’t in the mood for a hassle. He believed our ridiculous, but true story and sent us on our way.

Move-out day was the longest and hardest day of the whole Katrina experience. Raw emotions were laid bare. Happiness mingled with guilt. I also wondered if I should really be happy our stuff was okay … now we had to pay for storage and we would have to work hard to clean it all. The burden of having most of our stuff was a different burden than many others were facing, but it was a burden nonetheless.

I slept well that night. I think it took me three days to get that smell out of my nose.

The Hardest Part

For 37 days following Hurricane Katrina, we could not return to New Orleans or the seminary campus. The city and the campus were closed. The seminary administrators had to wait to open the campus until city officials gave the okay for residents to return. Once the city was open, they had to wait for the campus to dry out. It was a hard wait.

The seminary devised a phased move out plan for seminary families. Between Oct. 5-9, the campus would be open for residents to come in and salvage their personal items from campus dorms, apartments and houses. After Oct. 9. the campus would return to lock-down and the multi-million dollar restoration would begin. Our day was set for Oct. 7, however I had to go Oct. 5 for work (interviewing campus residents and taking photos for an article).

We had about a week of lead time to find a moving truck and place to store our stuff. That sounds easy, but due to all the damage miles and miles inland, many trucks, trailers and storage units were not available. Some of our friends rented trucks and trailers in Georgia and Alabama. We found a truck in Hattiesburg, Miss., and a storage unit in Meridian, Miss. (3 ½ hours north of New Orleans). I would travel to Mandeville, La., Oct. 4, and go to campus Oct. 5. I would return to Hickory, Miss., that night and the next day we would travel back to Mandeville to get ready for a hard day moving our stuff.

I entered New Orleans shortly after dawn Oct. 5. The city was devastated. A gray and brown, dusty patina covered the ground. Everything was dead – no color anywhere. Our once beautiful campus was equally drab. Dust, leaves, plant debris and broken limbs covered the ground. It was an assault on the senses – especially the senses of sight and smell.

Every door, on campus and off, had a brightly colored spray-painted “X” to signify the dwelling had been searched by the police or National Guard. At the top and the sides of the “X,” information about the search date and search team was displayed. At the bottom there was another number. You wanted to see a zero, because the number signified how many dead bodies were found in the dwelling. Thankfully, every door on campus had a zero at the bottom.

I went first to our old apartment for a quick peek. It stank. It looked much the way we left it, except for the large house flies buzzing throughout the rooms. I then stopped for a look at our beloved-but-worn-out Honda Civic which had been swamped by 9 feet of water. Sad. Then I got to the tough emotional task of reporting the events of the day.

A somber sadness hung over the campus. Residents worked busily to clean out their belongings. Soon large piles of broken memories and once-precious things littered the yards in front of the faculty homes and student dorms. This had to be the hardest part of the whole Katrina experience -- letting go of ruined irreplaceable photos and heirlooms.

It hurt to see the faculty members hurt. Over the years I had learned much from these men and women. We had often laughed and joked together. We had even traveled the world together. No journalistic distance here … no detachment.

I walked around campus, visiting homes and apartments, taking photos and interviewing people as they sorted through moldering mementos from happier times. I felt so uncomfortable - like an intruder witnessing private moments of pain and grief that I shouldn’t see.

While I was in New Orleans, Kimberly was trying to find another truck. The truck in Hattiesburg had fallen through. We knew they were struggling to find new tires for the truck the week before, but we thought they would be able to solve the issue. Even that long after Katrina, supplies (like truck tires) were depleted as far north as Memphis. They simply were not able to get a set of tires in time and therefore, they could not rent the truck. Kimberly called around and found a truck in Meridian. One catch, we could pick up the truck on Oct. 6, but we had to have it back in Meridian Oct. 7 before midnight. We had no choice. We had to agree to the terms.

After a hard day interviewing hurting people Oct. 5, I drove back to Hickory. It was a long, lonely drive. The sights and smells haunted my thoughts. Seeing the city and campus in such a state of utter ruin was shocking and traumatic. The campus was in bad shape, but the city was in bad shape times ten. Being there brought more questions than answers. A quick recovery seemed impossible.

Blessed Be Your Name

Job 1:21
"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised."

Sunday, Sept. 4, 2005, we decided to attend a church we had visited before – Sugar Hill Baptist Church in Buford, Ga. We had visited the church a year earlier while attending a conference in the Atlanta area. Sugar Hill had supported the church (Crosspoint) we helped start in Gulfport, Miss., from 2001-2005. We hoped the pastor at Sugar Hill would have information about how Crosspoint had fared in the storm.

We took Jonathan to the children’s area. We knew he needed to play with other kids. It had been a long week since he had even been around other kids.

Then we shuffled into the sanctuary and picked a safe place near the back. We were still just overwhelmed from all that had happened that week. The storm. Lack of power and communication. Bad news from New Orleans. Clean-up work. Several relocations. Then two days of intense work. We needed rest and refreshing.

My first real moment of release since the storm came when the praise band led the congregation in a powerful cover of “Blessed Be Your Name.” The song, made popular by the band Tree63, was a pre-storm favorite, but now it really meant something.

The song is about worshipping God regardless of one’s circumstance. It talks about blessing God’s name “in the land that is plentiful / Where streams of abundance flow” and “When I’m found in the desert place / Though I walk through the wilderness.”

The chorus says, “Every blessing You pour out, I’ll turn back to praise / When the darkness closes in, Lord / Still I will say / Blessed be the name of the Lord / Blessed be Your name / Blessed be Your glorious name.”

Then the lyrics take a different turn.
“You give and take away / You give and take away / My heart will choose to say / Lord, Blessed be Your name.”

The words “You give and take away” spoke to me in a profound way. Tears flowed and at that moment, I knew everything was going to be okay. It was the first time I KNEW it was going to be okay. Finally some peace in my heart. The Creator of the universe was still in charge and my circumstances would not and could not change that fact. The blessings He has poured out on me far outweigh the bad things that have happened in my life. Life. Breath. Family. Friends. His Son. All blessings.

In the Bible, Job lost EVERYTHING before he said the words: “The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.”

God used that song in a great way and I worshipped Him in that moment. My healing started there. Sometimes when we sing that song at church or I hear it on the radio, I am carried back to that moment – a moment of true, heart-rending worship. I will always love that song.

Blessed be Your glorious name!

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By the way, we did find out our first news from Crosspoint after church that day. Gulfport had taken a hard hit, but our friends from Crosspoint were safe.

The Longest Week

The longest day (Tuesday, Aug. 30, 2005) gave way to the longest week – Wednesday, Aug. 31 through Wednesday, Sept. 7.

After a cup of coffee Wednesday morning, Kimberly’s Dad, brother and I patched the roof with tar paper. It was a hot job, but it didn’t take too long. I cleaned up, changed clothes, loaded the van and hit the road.

For a brief moment, as we headed into the unknown, we felt like refugees. But quickly, we snapped back to reality. Our plight wasn’t all that bad. We were in better shape than many of our city's poorest residents. Though we were experiencing a difficult situation, our discomfort would be brief.

We got lost a few times in Atlanta looking for the Decatur Holiday Inn Select. When we finally made it, we saw a few seminary people in the lobby. After a few brief conversations, we went to our room and watched the news. The reports just made me angry and confused. It was nice to have power and a/c, but I didn’t sleep much that night.

Thursday and Friday brought hard work. The NOBTS team split into two task forces – one to address student relief and another to address the continuation of classes. The task forces reported back that afternoon with good, solid plans. NOBTS would continue its mission.

I immediately began writing two articles. I worked hard between phone calls – there were phone calls from everywhere, seeking information. I finished the two articles Friday morning and sent them to Baptist Press and our web administrator. I worked the rest of the day, but I don’t remember what I did.

That afternoon, we were released for the Labor Day weekend. In fact they gave us an extra day off. One catch, we had to move out of the Holiday Inn on Saturday. Kimberly, Jonathan and I didn’t really have anywhere to go. Kimberly’s parents still didn’t have power and we couldn’t travel to Oklahoma and back in four days.

One of Kimberly’s college friends, who lived in Cumming, Ga., agreed to take us in for the long weekend. We got up Saturday morning, packed and headed to Cumming. On the way, we bought a few clothes and other much-needed items.

For the most part, time seemed to stand still Sunday through Tuesday. We had reached information overload. Questions still weighed heavy on our minds. At moments I was tempted to despair … but I didn’t. I was thankful to know I would still have a job.

On Wednesday, Sept. 7th, Kimberly, Jonathan and I moved into a one bedroom unit at the Clairmont Crest Apartments (a senior adult independent living complex in Decatur, Ga.). The seminary set up the arrangements and found beds and furniture for each apartment. The apartment was really too small for us, but we were thankful to have it. Jonathan quickly became a huge hit with the elderly residents. Getting a place to stay was a nice bookend for a week that modulated between frantic busyness, endless worries and painful boredom.

Something amazing did happen on Sunday, Sept. 4. I’ll share that later in another note called “Katrina Stuff: Blessed Be the Name.”

Trans-Atlantic

Weary traveler,
Trans-Atlantic flight.
Leaving New York,
Away from the light.

Over the ocean,
All is quiet.
Searching, Looking,
Into blue midnight.

Feeling worse than I look,
Looking worse than I should.
Longing, anticipating,
I would sleep if I could.

Weary traveler,
Trans-Atlantic flight.
Imagining, Expecting,
Up all night.

- Gary D. Myers, 2006
  Inspired by flights to Paris, Tel-Aviv and Moscow

Mt. Carmel

Twelve stones gathered.
An offering consumed.
You will be praised.

Baal's men scattered.
False prophets shattered.
Your Name be raised.

People tested.
Idols bested.
You will be praised.

Holy God remembered.
Your Name be raised.
You Oh God, You must be praised.

– Gary D. Myers, 2005
   Written in Israel.
   Inspired by 1 Kings 18:18-40