Do Your Bit

I have something I'd like to get off of my chest.

The other day, a friend of mine said something that really stuck with me.  We were chatting about work, and, in the course of conversation, she made a comment comparing my drive and determination with her own.  In so many words, what I heard her say was, "I could never measure up to what you do; therefore I am inferior to you".  I will speak honestly, this exchange deeply grieved me.

Please don't get me wrong; I am very grateful for the blessing of a wonderful career.  The work I do is incredibly rewarding, full of opportunities and challenges and the benefits that come along with them.  On the face of things, it might even look pretty glamorous.

Here's the thing, though.  It just so happens that the skills and qualities and personality traits and life experiences that make up the package that is Carrie suit me for the work that I do.  I didn't wire myself up to be good at building spreadsheets and drafting emails and reading legal documents; it just kind of happened that way.  In fact, the only things about myself that I am a little proud of are my integrity and my work ethic, and those are things that I learned at the knee of my dad, so I can't even really take credit for those.  I just can't ever quite shake I Corinthians 4:7, which says "For who maketh thee to differ from another?  And what hast thou that thou didst not receive? Now if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it?"  Cuts a person down to size, doesn't it?

Now, on the flip side, let's talk about some of the things that I admire.  I have a brother-in-law and a friend who can make, literally, anything.  Their innate understanding of how things work never ceases to blow my mind.  What would cost me hours of struggle and misery to install or build or fix is but a few minutes of minimal effort in their hands.

Then, there's my dear, dear friend Tunie and her daughter and daughter-in-law.  I'm continually amazed at their ability to create things.  Put a brush or a crayon or a set of needles in any one of their hands, and whatever materializes will be beautiful.  Not only that, but all three are capable of accurately portraying the world around them, of drawing a pig that actually looks like a pig - a skill that utterly and completely eludes me.

I know a couple of people who never seem to get lost.  It's like they have little built-in navigation systems somewhere inside them, and can figure out exactly when to turn, where to park, and how to find the entrance, all without a bit of stress.  I have to admit, I envy them a little bit.

Then, there's my sister Katie and my friend Justin.  I don't think either one of them has ever met a stranger.  Whenever I'm with either one of them and I watch them interact with their surroundings, I'm utterly blown away at the ease with which they breach the protective walls that we human beings construct around us.  They both constantly inspire me to conquer my introverted tendencies, to reach out and touch and connect with others.

And finally, if I were to make a list of five of the people that I look up to and admire the most, that I watch and listen to and think, "I would like to be just like that person", I know just who those five would be.  All five of them are stay-at-home (or mostly stay-at-home) moms.  None have ever had fancy schooling or high-falutin jobs.  Often, they tend to be overshadowed, sidelined, ignored, in favor of the flashier, the wittier, the "smarter".  And yet, I have watched these women over the years - watched them care for their husbands and raise their children, open their hearts and their homes to whoever happened to cross their paths, raise their hands and their faces to their Creator in moments of worship, tirelessly give of themselves over and over and over again.  I have watched and I have been filled with love and admiration and a longing for just that kind of servant's heart.

I guess, what I'm trying to say in this long and rambling post is, it really doesn't matter what your little niche happens to be.  If you're a Fortune 500 CEO, run that company like a pro.  If you're a kindergarten teacher, teach to the very best of your abilities.  If you cut hair, show the world what an awesome hairdresser looks like.  If you sell things, throw those shoulders back and sell, sell, sell.  If you clean houses, make those houses positively sparkle.  If you're a high-schooler, nail those grades and ditch that awkward. (Okay, maybe there are limits...)  Anyway, whatever you are, be a darn good one.  And never, ever, ever hang your head in shame.  You may not realize it, but rest assured, if you're giving it your all, your talents are making a difference.

The Apostle Paul summed it up very nicely (and far more succinctly than I) when he said, "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord". (Col 3:24)

AMEN and AMEN.

Ahhhh, I feel so much better!

Thank you for your patience!

To all... as you may have noticed, the blogger is on hiatus for a bit - I've been focused on juggling a hectic work schedule, a really brutal semester and now building a house (and possibly moving at the same time).  I shall return soon, sane, refreshed and with lots to say, I hope!

Thank you for your patience and for making it fun to write.

Carrie
xoxo

Where to Stay When You Visit Glacier National Park

I had to shoot up to Whitefish, Montana this week for business.  I didn't intend to blog about it, because, trust me, it would make for boring reading material, but my lodgings stole my heart, so here I am.

My good friend Becki had mentioned to me at some point that she had an aunt who owned a bed & breakfast in Whitefish.  Becki is one of the coolest people I know, and I figure there's a good chance coolness runs in families, so I stored the info in my long-term memory for future contingencies like this one.  Sure enough, when it came time to hunt up somewhere to stay for a couple of days, against the advice of my colleagues, I turned down a room in one of the only four-star resorts in the entire state of Montana and chose instead to stay with Aunt Julie and Uncle Dick.

I made the right choice.

I arrived about 11 PM after a long flight.  Note: Delta Airlines' Orlando to Salt Lake City route bears more than a passing resemblance to Disney's Big Red Boat, in terms of clientele. Both directions.  Worthy of consideration when purchasing tickets.  Unless, of course, one prefers to spend four hours in the air accompanied by a nonstop chorus of pint-sized howls and yowls.  Although, in the interests of full disclosure, all of the travel-weariness vanished in an instant when I stepped off of that plane in Kalispell, only to be slapped in the face with a rush of bracing, ice-cold air and the unmistakable, heavenly fragrance of wood smoke.

But I digress.  I arrived about 11 PM and was greeted by Uncle Dick, who showed me to my spacious room on the ground floor.  As I told my hosts, I tend to pack a little heavier when I plan to stay at B&B's - my experience has taught me that one never quite knows what one will find - the spectrum ranges from four-star luxury to quite...rustic, shall we say.  I needn't have bothered, this time.  Aunt Julie thought of everything, from necessities like hair dryer, clothes iron and toiletries, to luxuries like bathrobe, jetted tub, mini fridge and even a gas-powered fireplace.  Of course, the little crystal dish of pecan-stuffed dates and homemade truffles waiting by my bedside table won my heart immediately.

I slept like a baby, and rose the next morning to the sounds and smells of breakfast.  Oh, and what a breakfast that was.  (Keep in mind, being mid-January is Glacier's off-season, I was the inn's only guest for my entire stay.)  I sipped coffee (my choice of heavy cream or half-and-half) at a lovely table set with fresh flowers, cloth napkins and a carafe of ice water with lemons and fresh mint, overlooking a snowy winter wonderland.  Aunt Julie started breakfast with a tasty apple crumble topped with lemony cream (Life is short!  Eat dessert first!) and then, once I'd had time to enjoy that, placed a plate overflowing with scrambled egg-stuffed poblano pepper, fresh hashbrowns, sliced avocado, and all of the trimmings in front of me.  Every bite was delicious, and I was disappointed that I couldn't finish it all (which is saying something, coming from this piglet).

Granted, breakfast was interrupted at one point when I looked up and happened to notice some "lawn ornaments" that I hadn't noticed a few minutes before.  "Oh," Aunt Julie said, "they're here for their breakfast, too", so I of course had to pause and watch while she went outside and handed out morning victuals to a small herd of deer and a flock of turkeys.  May I point out that this is not an everyday occurrence where I live?

After a long day spent taking care of business, it was such a relief to pull up to the house, its lights glowing welcome, sip on the cup of coffee Uncle Dick brewed up for me, and sit chatting with my hosts around the dining room table.  My line of work can be emotionally exhausting at times, with its giant-sized egos and high-stakes interactions, (although, to be fair, the Montana guys aren't as bad as some, and one of them is downright lovable - do you suppose their environment has anything to do with that?) and after a day spent in a constant state of mental high-alert, spending time with real, down-to-earth, goodhearted folks is a downright luxury.  Of course, the smoked salmon dip and crackers awaiting me in my room didn't hurt either.

The next morning, Aunt Julie served me homemade quinoa crepes filled with fresh fruit and topped with whipped coconut creme.  And this time, I got to feed the animals!  (This was a huge treat for this comparatively citified country-girl-at-heart.)

Needless to say, my eight-year-old nephew was very impressed with this photo.

After a quick tour of the house, it was time to load up and head back towards the airport and home.

To say that I enjoyed my stay would be an understatement.  Not only were my accommodations the very picture of comfort, it was such a treat to spend time with a gentle, soft-spoken lady who simply exudes hospitality and the love of Jesus.  It isn't often that one has a chance to stay in a place where one feels less like a guest and more like a family member, and I treasured that experience.

I did get a grand tour of the afore-mentioned four-star resort, and for those who like their lodgings to come with front desks and lobbies, I would recommend it.  The family that owns and runs it knows their stuff, and, from what I can see, they run a high-class operation.  I doubt, though, that their accommodations come with homemade bedside treats, that their breakfasts are accompanied by heartfelt conversations about life and our Lord, and that their guests are given a warm hug goodbye.

For those who, like me, consider these things some of the very finest things in life, my suggestion would be to stay at Julie's Country Manor.

Oh, and why would a person bother visiting this neck of the woods anyway, one might ask?  Well, we had a couple of extra hours mid-afternoon, and my incredibly gracious business associate offered to drive me out to the park (Glacier, that is).  This is what I saw.  Of course, the pictures don't even begin to do justice to the real thing.  So, yeah.  

The Further Adventures of the Five Little Pigs

Day 2:  Today, our day consisted of walking, shopping and eating, not necessarily in that order.  Katie and I started the day by heading out on foot in search of breakfast.  Our route took us past some really cool government buildings that just oozed historical significance (I don't know if they really were historically significant; they just looked it) and right through the heart of Chinatown.  

My apologies to any fans of the neighborhood, but I'm kind of not into Chinatown.  It's pretty grubby, which in and of itself is no great crime, considering much of the city is the same, but, I don't know... it almost feels like the whole darn neighborhood has this thin layer of dust covering it or something.  Not that it does necessarily, but...just not my thing, I guess.  Anyway, our destination was the Doughnut Plant, and by golly, it was worth the walk.  I'll be honest, I don't normally brake for donuts (Krispy Kreme Hot Now's excepted).  Not that they're bad, exactly; just not really worth the calories, in my opinion.  (I'm always convinced I can taste all of the crud in the oil they were fried in.)  These were the first donuts I've ever eaten that were actually good by any standard, not just a donut standard.  We ordered a vanilla bean and (homemade) blackberry jam yeast donut, a gingerbread cake donut, and a cinnamon roll thingy, and we totally feasted, and I would have happily gone back and eaten my way through the display case.  While we were there, Dan and Em caught up with us and ordered some stuff, which we, of course, had to sample.

The four of us took off from there and headed out for some retail therapy, guided by Kate's excellent leadership. (Shhhhh Dan!  We got to see a whole bunch of the city we wouldn't have seen otherwise!)  We were headed for SoHo, which has some really fantastic shopping (I've pretty much resolved that I'm not going to bother with the local malls anymore; I'll just save my pennies, and twice a year or so, I'll book a cheap ticket and hotel room for a night, go up there and shop until I drop), but along the way, we passed some really interesting sights.  I had to take a picture or two of the little markets we passed, with their produce and flowers and fish all spread out, right there next to the sidewalk.  It was really picturesque and, I don't know, urban.  We also walked down Bowery, which was lined with storefront after storefront filled with new and used restaurant equipment.  I had no idea that's what the area is known for, but how incredibly cool.  OH and, lest I forget, Katie and I were photographed by a fashion blogger.  We still haven't decided whether it was for the Fashion Do or the Fashion Don't page, but still!  

A flower stand!  Dude, if I could walk past a flower stand every day on my way home...

Because I have no earthly idea what any of this stuff even is... 

Our next serious stop (no, I'm not kidding) was Rice to Riches, which sells nothing but rice pudding.  I totally judged the book by its cover when I walked in, and my judgment was not friendly.  You could tell the owners were gearing up to be the next Mochi or something - slick decor, clever witticisms all over the walls, smart-aleck names for everything... it was obvious that the concept had been focus-grouped within an inch of its life.  To my surprise, though, the product itself wasn't bad!  Of course, I have a weak spot for rice pudding, so I'm probably not the stoniest heart to walk through its doors, but I really enjoyed it.  We split up for a little while and did some shopping; I spotted, fell in love with, bargained for, and ultimately bought my first real fur (relax, it was a vest, not a full-on coat) in this quiet, nameless little boutique manned by a charming Frenchman and his assistant, and I spotted, fell in love with, and did not buy some really cool jewelry hawked by a street vendor.  She wanted 20 bucks for a necklace and wouldn't even bother bargaining with me - like I'm going to fall for that?  Amazing how the street works its magic on a consumer...  

 

In no time at all, it was time for lunch.  I had my heart set this trip on a real Jewish deli experience.  I've heard Katz's and Carnegie are both good, authentic delis, but both boast lines that just about wind around the block, so we opted for Mile End Deli, which is one of the new, up-and-comers trying to make their mark in the genre with house-cured and homemade everything.  The food was good, especially the chopped liver and poutine (some readers may remember this gravy-swathed french fry and cheese curd concoction from the Canada trip); I enjoyed it, but I think I'd still like to try one of the old-guard places.

I wouldn't mind if my front porch looked just like this.

 

We rounded out the afternoon with still more shopping, interspersed with a refueling stop at Think Coffee, which was totally my kind of place, replete as it was with tattooed starving-artist types behind the counter, local and organic menu offerings, and a decidedly nerdy, dark-rimmed glasses-sporting clientele.  Of course, all the better for the fact that I was with my brother-in-law, who I derive great enjoyment from horrifying, and whose thoroughly yuppie soul is repelled by surroundings such as these.  So yeah, that one was a win.  

This place is legendary among New York food circles... Good-looking peeps, no?

This store was completely EPIC.  Also very expensive.  But, gosh!  The treasures in there!

I was completely hashed by the end of the day; you know that feeling when your senses go on strike and inform you that you're, just, done?  I hit my limit in the middle of a swarming Century 21 department store (which is a really cool store, by the way).  I had just enough strength to walk back to the hotel, supplemented by a pretzel from the sweet Egyptian guy who wondered if Katie and I were from Dublin and who invited us to his hookah bar in Queens, I think it was (belly dancing on Tuesdays!).  Just a few minutes to rest and refresh, and back on the street, headed to dinner.

Dinner tonight was at Morimoto, an Asian restaurant Andrew recommended, and I think I would be safe in calling it our big, statement meal for the trip.  The place is classic "event" dining - you brush through the theatrical red curtains at the entrance to be greeted by elegantly-dressed hostesses who lead you past banquettes full of beautiful people and seat you in plush, white-upholstered chairs amidst soaring, dramatic architecture, all glass and concrete and steel beams, after which you peruse the offerings described in the all lower-case font of the moment, ultimately choosing the omikase tasting menu, which is purported to "allow you to experience the essence of morimoto's cuisine".  You then proceed to spend the next two hours  engaged in languid conversation and basking in comfort as countless waiters and waitresses bustle about, placing dish after dish after flawlessly-executed dish before you, to be whisked away and replaced by another, just as soon as you rest your chopsticks in their sleek little holder.

Not pictured, among other things, the most incredibly delicious green apple sorbet, and the funky little homemade mochi.

It's heady stuff; the kind of dining where you want to wear your sexiest heels and take just a little more time with the eyeliner.  I like doing it once in awhile - makes a person feel special and important and part of the action, which does have its charm.  Honestly, though, for me, that sort of restaurant experience is far less about the food (which, don't get me wrong, is very, very good, in the most professional, cheffy sort of way) and more about the scene - about how it makes you feel.  And, at the end of the day, I'm a food girl more than a scene girl, so once in awhile usually does the trick for me.  Generally, I'm happier in the quirky, off-the-beaten-path places, manned by a brilliant, passionate food nerd or three in the tiny kitchen, serving up amazing victuals onto mis-matched plates and trotting them out into a dining room furnished with whatever mishmash of tables and chairs and secondhand decor they could cobble together. 

Still, though, I would highly recommend a Morimoto-style, fine dining experience at least once to anyone who hasn't tried it.  Yes, you pay well for the privilege, but, like anything, you get what you pay for, and, really, everybody deserves to be Cinderella once in awhile!

Holiday Weekend in New York, aka the Horrifying Amount of Food Five People are Capable of Consuming.

So I spent Christmas weekend in New York City with two of my siblings and their spouses.  If you'd like the long version of what we did and where we went, read on.  Short version?  We ate.  And ate and ate and ate.  I half-expected to come home with a couple of extra spare tires around my mid-section; we ate that much.  Fortunately, the other thing we did a ton of was walk, so the fallout wasn't as disastrous as I feared.  This still gets embarrassing, so brace yourself...

Day 1 (Christmas Day):  I have officially discovered the single best day of the year to fly.  I think there were three people in the security line with me, and we didn't even have to take our shoes off.  Needless to say, between that and the fact that I indulged in the luxury of a flight that left at 11:30 AM (as opposed to, say, 6 AM), the whole experience was extremely mellow and pleasant (even if I did have a complete brain wrinkle and forget that I needed to get to the airport an hour early until sometime the morning of...).  I even managed to navigate from JFK to the Financial District via the AirTrain and the subway, all by myself!  (This is way more of an accomplishment than it sounds.  Every time I descend into the subway solo, I have this vision of inadvertently boarding a train speeding mercilessly in the wrong direction, vanishing into the outer reaches of Staten Island, or some such wilderness, never to be heard from again.  It's hard, people.)

Anyway, Andrew and Katie arrived ahead of me, so once I'd dropped my bags at our super-cool (wink, wink) hotel located smack next to the World Trade Center construction site, I set off to find them so we could embark upon our first eating adventure.  It was just the three of us, this first night; my brother Dan and his wife Emily were scheduled to arrive the next morning.  We decided to hit this Asian noodle place in the East Village that Andrew (who spent a few weeks in the city taking a culinary class a couple of summers ago, lending him a certain amount of street cred) had been raving about.  Now, to be honest, I am a noodle-lover (yes to all of that carby goodness) but not an Asian-cuisine lover.  The best response I can generally muster to a white styrofoam box full of General Tso's Chicken from Hong Yip or Fu King is a tepid shrug.  I'll eat it, but don't expect much by way of passion.  That being said, I can say without qualification that my bowl of Spicy Lamb Noodles (please do not expect me to remember, let alone pronounce, the linguistically correct name) and accompanying Spicy Tiger Salad was the most delicious Asian food I have ever eaten in my entire life.  I even include sushi in that statement, and I like sushi pretty well.  Long story short, those fantastically chewy, hand-torn noodles, redolent with warm spices and rich lamb flavor, counterbalanced by the cool, herbal crunch of the salad, were really, really, really good.  Totally, totally worth braving the claustrophobic interior of the place.  Besides, there is something that feels so authentically...New York about sitting, back propped against the curb (it did occur to me to wonder how much dog pee I was sitting in), chopsticks in hand, slurping noodles from plastic to-go containers.  I liked it.

We had to burn a few calories so we could justify dessert, so we walked uptown, intending to climb to the top of the Empire State Building for the nighttime view, which was totally not worth fifty bucks and a two-hour wait, so we skipped it.  We did, however, venture onto Times Square, which I don't care if I ever set foot in again.  What a gross monument to everything that is disgusting about American consumerism.  I also had a chance to walk into Grand Central Station, which is positively stunning in its grandeur.  Even the bathroom signs are carved in marble.  But enough of all of that; the real reason for the season was dessert, which we found at ChikaLicious Dessert Club, where I picked up a slice of Vanilla Mille Crepe cake (literally a pile of crepes layered with vanilla pastry creme).  Katie and Andrew collaborated on a Meyer Lemon Dough'Ssant (a riff on the Cronut, which is actually Dominique Ansel's trademark, and whose out-of-control popularity is demonstrated by a knockoff for sale at Dunkin Donuts, of all places), a tasty banana custard pie, and something else, which I can't tell you anything about, because Andrew doesn't believe in food-sharing, which is totally ridiculous if you ask me.  That, coupled with some brown water from the hotel's espresso machine, savored in the splendor of the luxurious lobby, made for a real pleasant nightcap.

Christmas Day, Times Square, at like 10 PM.  Unspeakably awful.

Adds so much romance to the daily commute.

  Bro!  *Pumps fist*

I saw shops like this all over the city, selling anything and everything you can imagine.  I'll post a picture tomorrow of the ones in Chinatown, selling stuff I'd never heard of.  So incredibly cool.

I have no idea why the streets were lined with Christmas trees, but they smelled heavenly.

The Giving of Thanks

Thanksgiving weekend was wonderful, truly wonderful; one of those interludes where one emerges feeling like a completely different (and better) person than one was going in.

I spent the long weekend in North Georgia, submerged in a heavenly mix of nature and civilization; exertion and relaxation; solitude and companionship; comfort and discomfort.  Couldn't ask for better, really.

I spent Thursday and Friday hiking; almost 20 miles total, between the two days, and did it ever feel good.  There's just something about getting out into the mountains, away from the noise and far from the madding crowd - it works wonders, every time.  I think it has something to do, for me, anyway, with the stability that they represent.  Life has this way of growing ever more complicated; things, circumstances, people change...  The world flies around in this state of perpetual commotion... The noise of society reaches a fever pitch...  And then I drive those winding, mountain roads and look, and there they are, just the same as they always were (well, to my naked eye, anyway), untouched and unmoved by the storms that have passed over them, the headlines that have screamed around them, the battles that have been fought and the earth-shattering events that have transpired while they stood there, just as they always have.  Really, for me, they stand as a parable of the unchanging faithfulness of my Heavenly Father, and what a great, great comfort that is.

Plus, hiking solo is just plain a great opportunity to think - about plans and priorities, where one has been and where one is going, those sorts of things; especially here at the end of the year.  (Of course, that moment always comes when the brain quits indulging in the luxury of thinking and instead focuses on just trying to force screaming lungs to gasp for oxygen and aching feet to take one painful step after another.)  Plus, you meet the coolest people on the trail, from the friendly AT-hikers overtaken filtering stream water, to the trail angel in the Springer Mountain parking lot, to the two dudes just back from a 34-day backpacking trip in Southeast Asia, to the three cheerful hunting buddies roaming the mountain looking for bear, to the sweet, slightly overweight and under-prepared couple who drove me around a mountain in the Chattahoochee National Forest in the pitch-dark for an hour, looking for my car... But that's another story.

In any case, spending two days hiking was literally heavenly and long overdue.  Plus, burning all those calories meant I could tuck into a Dillard House dinner, guilt-free.

I got to spend a day with Andrew and Katie, really just relaxing - eating breakfast at Bronx Bagels, exploring Avalon (Alpharetta's newest lifestyle development), poking around downtown Decatur, wandering the aisles of the vast Dekalb Farmers Market, discovering the utter awesomeness that is Kudzu Antique Market (I shall return!), and savoring the exquisite tasting menus, with their riffs on classic Southern flavors, at Restaurant Eugene, in downtown Buckhead.

Omelet topped with caviar

Sweet potatoes and a mess of greens, yes sir!

Crisped, fried rice and a perfectly poached egg

Probably the single most pivotal part of my weekend, though, was the day that I spent on the streets. I've always been deeply moved whenever I've watched films or read books addressing poverty and inequality; I'm always left weeping and with a determination to get out there and do something, and yet, somehow, life and routine have this way of creeping in and chipping away at those good intentions.  So, needless to say, it caught my attention when my friend Justin started telling me about a street ministry he had been introduced to; this weekend turned out to be the perfect opportunity to investigate.

For starters, to get a better understanding of what this ministry is all about, feel free to check out the website I've linked to above or Google "Pastor 7 Atlanta", but long story short, The Lord reached down with a mighty hand and rescued a cold, hard sinner from a desperate, miserable life of crime and drugs and prison and set him on a path to eternal life.  This guy just couldn't keep the good news inside, so he decided to go back into the same places he once inhabited, the poorest and most dangerous parts of inner-city Atlanta, and feed the hungry, both literally and spiritually; the work he started has been steadily growing ever since.

From a logistical standpoint, our task was simple - we were to load up in our vehicles and follow the ministry van into what is known as The Bluff, one of the most infamous drug neighborhoods in the city.  We'd stop at about five or six different pre-arranged locations, ranging from parking lots to abandoned buildings to housing projects, hand out sack lunches, pray with whoever we came into contact with, and share the love of Jesus.

I'm still not entirely certain that my command of the English language is enough to put words to what that day was like, but it was important enough to me that I have to try.  Let me start by saying it wasn't fun.  It was a day marked by profound discomfort and a powerful desire to turn and run, back to safety and comfort, away from the dark ugliness and poverty that I saw all around me.  For starters, this comfortably middle-class white girl who has never known true want or fear her entire life, was completely horrified at the conditions she saw her fellow human beings living in, right under the shadow of the interstates and shopping malls and megaplexes that are as commonplace and familiar as her own backyard.  I'm not kidding here.  Google "The Bluff Atlanta" and check out the images - this is no exaggeration; it really looks (and smells and sounds) like this.  And I'm serious - in the event a person forgets that they're in the heart of America, all they have to do is look up and see the same stadiums and high-rises and shopping centers that one passes while traveling I-75.  This dreadful, poverty-stricken alternate universe lurks literally right under our noses as we cruise by in our comfortable, climate-controlled vehicles at 79 miles per hour, and we don't even know it.

So, yes, I felt anger, at a nation who prides itself on being the world's policeman and yet who allows this kind of misery, right in its own backyard.  But there was more, far more.  I heard an elderly woman sing Amazing Grace at the top of her lungs, head thrown back, like she really meant it, in the middle of an abandoned parking lot.  I saw and heard former addicts and drug dealers stand in the middle of a circle of believers and read God's Holy Word, followed up with those familiar lines, "and that means to me..."  I saw a young thug, anger and mistrust distorting his features, swagger up to the food line, snatch his lunch and move away and thought about the fact that he was one of the very lost lambs that Jesus left the ninety and nine to go find.  I held hands with complete strangers and lifted up Jesus' name, in prayer and in song.  I played human taxi to a little fellow who climbed on my back and refused to let me put him down until we left - he issued orders while devouring a donut, and I toted him around and held all of his goodies, and we sang the Potato Chip Song.  I saw a father stand quietly, his hands on his children's heads, listening to the Gospel.  I saw a very little boy, far too old for his years, curse and shove a little girl, and I grieved, because how does a little one know to behave that way, unless he sees it acted out in front of him by the adults in his life?  I listened as one young man, just newly turned away from dealing dope, told me his dreams, his hopes of getting his GED and then learning heating and air-conditioning or welding, of building a new life for himself, clean, sober, and giving glory to the One who saved him.  I hugged and hugged and hugged, people like me, and people who, I confess, I might be tempted to cross the street to avoid in my everyday life.  I wrapped my arms around people whose history and way of life was a complete mystery to me, and I talked to my Jesus, out loud, on their behalf.  I looked into eyes and I saw them fill, with tears and with hope.  And, in the process, through all of that, through what I saw and heard and did, I could feel my soul expanding, right before my very eyes.


I thought about it later.  7 Bridges bills itself as an organization that reaches out to the lost and broken of Atlanta and beyond, and welcomes the help of any and all who wish to participate in that mission.  We kind of naturally classify who falls into which category: the poor and homeless and downtrodden fall under the "lost and broken" heading and church-goers and families and civic groups fall under the "helper" heading.  As I watched some of those church-goers, though, a different picture started to emerge.  I saw in their faces some of the same discomfort and awkwardness that I felt, and I saw eagerness and excitement start to dawn as they too began to realize the mighty power of God that we as believers can so easily take for granted and what that power can do in lives that so desperately need Him.  It got me thinking - maybe what 7 Bridges is doing is much, much bigger than just ministering to the hungry, literally speaking.  Maybe, in addition, they're providing an opportunity for those of us who have maybe gotten a little complacent in our walks to get "on fire" again, to open our eyes to what The Lord is ready and willing to do, even in our own lives.  So everybody gets fed, really.  Some get lunch and a hug and an opportunity to meet their Creator for the first time, and some get a chance to fall in love with their Savior all over again.  That's a pretty good day's work, I'd say.

I will say this much, and I say this especially to those of you reading this who are, like me, blessed to live a wonderful, prosperous, comfortable life serving Jesus.  There is a big, big, hurting, dying world out there that is starving to know the true and living God.  I've never been so thankful for the blessing of having known Him all of my life, for having learned his ways since I was a child, and for the truth of his Word.  I've also never felt such a burden to share the good news, because this world needs it, bad.  And I understand more than ever before that sharing that good news might involve some discomfort and a willingness to step outside one's bubble of security.  What good is the Gospel if we only tell it to ourselves and to people who look and sound and smell just like us?

I don't know where this road will lead, but I know that if I follow Him, it will be glorious.