faith? . . . . another test?

Today is August 29.

I am scared.

I spent much of this morning fixing things around my house. My wife asked me to do this. Her family is on their way to Cleveland and she wants our home to be as comfortable as possible. This trip has actually been planned for a few months, but it has now gone from what was to be a weekend of relaxation and fun with her mom and brother to a weekend eerily similar to one we had in 2005 with about 15 or 20 family and friends from New Orleans.

Three years ago today Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Mississippi Gulf Coast and pushed it's way into my wife's hometown -- and thus my adopted home - of New Orleans. We watched as Mother Nature punched the city in the gut, kicked it in the knees, and then pushed it to the ground. And the reception that was given to Mississippi wasn't even that cordial. Our coast was just knocked down in one fatal blow. Within 24 hours it was gone. It took weeks and months for New Orleans to be knocked down. But the pain felt by people in both areas was -- and still is -- just the same.

And now Gustav sits in the gulf. Striking fear in all of us. And forcing us to go back to places we hoped would slowly fade from our minds.

So I'm worried.

I'm worried that two of the areas I love most are still too weak for battle. I'm worried that I will spend this weekend huddled around a TV in our den, the lights turned low, the room silent save for the conversation provided by CNN and the Weather Channel. I'm worried about finding the words -- again -- to provide what ever comfort I can to my family, my friends, and my wife should they be forced to watch in amazement as the city they love drowns. I'm worried that I will relive August 29, 2005 all over again.

I'm worried that the strength won't be there this time.

So after I completed the checklist that Jamie gave me this morning, I went into the room in our house where all of the prints from my "New Orleans" show are stored. I flipped through them, remembering what thoughts were in my head when I created each image. Remembering the purpose behind their composition. Remembering how the strength and perseverance of all of the people who had to start over after Katrina left me in awe.

Remembering the faith they all shared.

And I reread the words I wrote in my artist's statement for the show. You can read the entire statement HERE. But for now, I'll just pull the last part and leave these words with you.

Or perhaps I need to leave them with me.

"from New Orleans

. . . I only ask that as you view these images, you keep in mind your family, your friends, and your home. And think about what you would do, and how you would hope people would respond, if this were to happen to you.

And when you ponder this, know that you can’t help but be inserted into this story. Because life is not easy. It’s not fair. It takes great strength and discipline to march on. It takes faith—a tremendous amount of faith. But it can be oh, so wonderful even when it seems to be its most treacherous.

Whether you were directly affected by Hurricane Katrina or not, you have a link to the city of New Orleans. What we see in south Louisiana is an extreme example of what every one of us will go through at some point. Without the bad there is no good. Without fear there is no faith. Without hate there is no love. Yes, these images are from New Orleans, but they could have been created anywhere."


God I hope I am still able to believe in these words in a few weeks.



Bless you all. May you find strength and courage and beauty every time they are needed..

~wj