Where are We? Oh Yeah. Little Rock to Memphis

Point N Memphis June 20, 2013 Thursday

It happened. I freely admit it. I lost track of days, time and cities. Last night (really it was early this morning) I blogged or facebooked that I was in Memphis. Nope. I was in Little Rock, Arkansas. This was discovered when I read the sticker on the back of our hotel room door this morning. Obviously, this has happened to other travelers, or else the city name would not be prominently displayed before we wander outside. Could you imagine thinking you are in one town and asking for a taxi to take you to XYZ street and ending up in another town with a $200 fare?  Not pretty. Much better to have the city on the door. Its like having your name embroidered on your company shirt. In case you wander off the job and forget  where you belong.

It is much easier to forget where you are than you might think, especially when you stay at the same hotel chain. The rooms look alike. They even have the same art  prints hanging in the rooms. The same furnishings. The only distinguishing characteristics are the bed coverings and curtains and bed skirts.  Different colors. Same style. I bet touring musicians have this problem, too. The cities all look alike with the same stores and chain restaurants. The people look alike. But the "flavor" and spirit of the places vary.

So my apologies to those followers I may have confused. It was me. The cities are blending together into a conglomerate of oozy details, a blended ball of blur. I am not alone. It is happening to all of us. It only happened to me later than everyone else.

Today was another  drive day. Our second encounter of the morning came at the gas station in Little Rock, Arkansas. A beautiful woman drove up in a huge white GMC Denali. She spoke to me and we began a conversation which ended with me praying for her and her son.

Still image captured from the dash cam. Not too creepy I hope.

 She friended us on Facebook and promised to pray for us for the remainder of our trip. She went into her SUV and gave us a copy of a preaching CD from First Pentecost Church, which we happened to drive past going out of the city minutes later.

We listened to the music on it,"Its Only the Beginning," and heard the preacher talk about "Continuation of Going Forward." Very timely. And what a blessing to us. I got goosebumps listening to the music and the teaching. Thank you, Liz.


We also blessed our breakfast waitress earlier. 

At first we drove through beautiful mountains and hill country which made way to flat land and rice fields. This was a surprise. Arkansas has a $1 billion dollar rice industry. Its their number 2 commodity. I was equally excited to see wild asparagus growing alongside the road with elder bushes and even what appeared to be naturalized wheat.

We pulled into downtown Memphis this afternoon and explored on foot. We are staying on Main Street across from the city park area and several blocks from Beale.  Beale Street is the tourist attraction with the names of famous musicians memorialized in the sidewalk. Kinda like Hollywood and the stars idea. Only in Memphis its Country or Blues legends, Elvis or Jerry Lee Lewis' names in musical notes.

We met a young black man there who is missing his legs, actually only having a torso, sitting in a wheelchair near Starbucks.

His urine bag shared his seat with him, an empty bottle across his lap, a change cup in his hand.His story was heart wrenching. He lost his mom at age 15. Grandmother took care of him for awhile after his mom died. Then she died. His aunts and relatives in Memphis and Florida do not care for him or look out for him. He is homeless now.

 He was shot 8 times and lived. One bullet went in his eye and he still sees. His eyes were tender and strong but they bore an ache that exposed his soul when I  squatted to be able to look him in the eye at his level.We prayed for him. Gave him money.  I saw a vision of blue skies over him and heard the lyrics from an oldie folk song I can only remember the phrase sung in harmony, "Blue skiiiiieeess."  I could not find the song on You Tube for reference.

We encouraged him. Then a man who represented himself as a street minister to the homeless came over to us. He had a tall, thin build. He asked for donations to house the homeless, as he pulled a wallet out with unopened tracts in it that also exposed a few ones and a five. I could see the look of pain grow stronger on the other man's face. The fast talking thin man described different attractions there and told us 'Bucky' was a good guy and the pastor was working on a place for him out of the shelter, he put in the paperwork, he is on a waiting list. As he came closer to take group pictures, Lesa noticed his breathe smelled of alcohol. Not that alcohol on a minister's breath indicates anything bad or intrinsically wrong. But in this instance, we felt "slimed." I hope that fake minister doesn't call the man Bucky because he attracts more money on the street. I hope that the fake minister does not steal from him or threaten to. What could he do about it if so? We hurried back over to where he sat to make sure he was OK and not in any danger but by the time we got there, he had already moved on to somewhere else. Hopefully to go get some dinner.To get away from that other guy.

The flavor of Memphis?  Not so sweet. I felt watched, almost hunted while there. I did not like Beale Street. Main Street felt OK. It was more of a residential area and regular commercial district, with stores, restaurants, and 5000 people housed in upscale apartments.

French Quarter, New Orleans was better. At least the sin there was on the surface of the city. We saw the sin of Memphis was creepy, sneaky below it. We did not much feel the desire to eat on Beale Street after that encounter with the fake minister. But we all cried real tears over the legless man who sleeps in his chair near Starbucks so in case anything happens to him, the cameras will pick it up and justice can be served.

During dinner tonight we wrote out all the names of each person our lives impacted and intersected along the way so we would not forget them.

 So we could pray for them each again, and  to sort out the details from each city where God took us to bless His people, love them as they are, and encourage them. Including Ms. Ann, who wasn't our waitress tonight but who made us feel part of her friendly world. We ended up prophesying over her and blessing her and she gave us all hugs and let us take pictures.

She said she used to carry a cross on her clipboard. I said she carries the cross on her face, it shines.

You can't hide Jesus when you have peace and joy. He pokes out and shines through. No emblems are needed, no religious slogans. It is all there, in you, shining through. Like from Ms. Ann. Like from many of the other people we have encountered along the way, from Cary to Memphis.

Old and New Friends

Tuesday June 18, 2013 Location K to L Norman, Oklahoma to Cartersville, Missouri
then Cartersville to Fayetteville, Arkansas Point M Day 12

We took our time to check out from the hotel in Norman this morning to get some more much needed rest before heading out on to I-35 North to Missouri. We passed the Home of Toby Keith sign and the roadside view of the tornado destruction in Moore after Oklahoma City. We all agree that any photograph taken does not come close to describing, depicting or representing the devastation suffered by the people who survive tornadoes of these magnitudes. Or any magnitude, for that matter.

Oklahoma was rolling hill country the whole way into Missouri. I drove so Lesa could do some writing on her laptop. Every three miles or so, a sign would pop up to remind drivers DO NOT DRIVE INTO SMOKE, as if we forgot not to do that the last 50 times the sign appeared.

We never saw any smoke. Evidence of previous wildfires scarred the otherwise beautiful landscape. Acre after acre of scarred dead trees stood like a monument to careless cigarette tossing or random lightening strikes, kindling after the three year drought. There has been no shortage of rain this year. 

We exited the Turnpike at Vinita, Oklahoma. No signs indicated we would be driving on the infamous Historic Route 66 to find bathrooms and lunch. We ended up choosing a dive diner beckoning us with its oversized EAT sign. The food was both plentiful and flavorful. It was featured on one of those Food Network shows and had been voted best in the nation for Chicken and Stuffing, which I opted for and enjoyed.

It never ceases to amaze me how our Daddy God cares about what we care about. It's the little things that bring us such pleasure. I got excited about all the Echinacea Purpurea (purple coneflower) growing wild along the road. 

And the opportunity to go see American art for free on the way to our next stop.

Missy and Mary got excited about the Route 66 thing. 

Lesa was jazzed up by the Food Network featured diner. Its the little things that make big and lasting impressions.

We rolled into Carterville about an hour before our pre-arranged meeting time with several women from that area. We stayed with a couple I have known for twenty years or so from Virginia Beach.They ended up here to take care of an aging parent. 

Alita was so excited to have us come, she has been making arrangements and planning for two months, as soon as she knew for sure we were coming. She replaced all her towels, and bought more to make sure we had enough. She bought new linens in Egyptian Cotten (high thread count, the very soft kind), new pillows for each of us, new bed spread cover, pillow shams, pillow cases, new shower curtain liner, provided a basket full of personal hygiene products, stream cleaned the carpets, scrubbed her home top to bottom, and made sure we felt at home. I swear, if she had a red carpet, she would have thrown it out for us too.

 “Is anyone on your team allergic to cats?” she asked again and again. I assured her and reassured her that, no, none of us are allergic to cats. She wanted to make sure that the cat hair would not bother us, and went ahead and steam cleaned the carpets anyway, covered the bed with a plastic sheet to keep the unwanted cat hair from bothering us anyway. Her concern was unwarranted but we welcomed her heart of hospitality and love and honored her for her thoughtfulness, going above and beyond, even after I told her over and over,”You don't need to go through all that trouble for us. Keep it simple. We are happy to come as it is.” She did not hear any of that and made sure we were comfortable and felt at home. The team really loved meeting Alita and enjoyed her sweet nature and kindnesses.

She rented a room next to Papa John's Pizza for us to meet in. She asked us what we wanted to eat. We said we would share a cheese pizza. And She bought each person their own pizza. Plus one extra. She provided bottled drinks, and purchased table covers for each table to make it look nicer for us. Again, above and beyond what was needed, expected or imagined. 

Alita gathered a group of wonderful women. Ina, Wilda, Ginger, Judy. Two were married for nearly 50 years, one a foster mother to 13 children, one a faithful Bible teacher and educator, one a former semi truck driver through Colorado to the south, over a route packing explosives on the most treacherous roadways in America.. She is a risk taker, adventurer. A knitter, sewer and crocheter.And in spite of her years, intended to learn how to ride a Harley one day. Each one of these women inspired us all in their own unique ways. Lesa encouraged them and read a passage from Galatians to them out of The Message version.It was a perfect passage of Scripture to read them.

We each prayed over each one and encouraged them all. The evening ended way too soon even though we had two hours together which was extended twice to make three hours in all.

We returned to Dic and Alita's home and talked until past midnight before we all called it a night.


Day 12 We ate breakfast together at a diner in Webb City, and again, enjoyed plentiful amounts of tasty victuals.

A stranger walking into the diner, as we were walking out, started up a friendly conversation with us and recommended a couple places to stop in Arkansas since we had an hour or two extra before our next planned meeting. He recommended Crystal Bridge in Bentonville, Arkansas, an American Museum of Fine Art donated by the Walton Family of Wal-Mart Fame.

We left Alita and Dic after taking Communion together and praying over them individually and as a couple as well. I could see they were both moved and inspired by our visit and did not want us to go.

We drove on to Bentonville, Arkansas, ran over a poor turtle and saw the fine art before meeting Jennifer, a friend Lesa met at a SOZO Retreat on the Outer Banks. We met her at Bliss, a cupcake shop in Fayetteville. We listened to her story, lived in her dreams, got inspired by her hopes and prayed for her, encouraged her and loved her.

Then we made our way to Little Rock, our overnight lodging place after we ate dinner.

And joked all day about the poor turtle, who did not stand a chance against our tires.

     https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=614833005194106

Memphis bound tomorrow. Good night.

Disparity

Disparity

Monday, June 17, 2013 Point K Little Axe, Oklahoma Day 10

dis·par·i·ty  

/diˈsparitē/

Noun A great difference.

Synonyms inequality - difference - dissimilarity - discrepancy

Life in and around Oklahoma is moving at break neck speed. And crawling at snails pace. Booming. And busting. Life is standing still in some areas and whizzing past without a second glance, without a passing thought in others.

You thought Route 64 was a challenge. Experience driving on Texas and Oklahoma highways when you aren't from around here. When exits are closed and the GPS does not know it and sends you around to the same exit again and again. When there is not enough room to merge and two other lanes are merging into one and everyone is driving past the speed limit. Whoa, horsey!

Then you get on the country roads, where neighbors stop in the middle of the road and say hello or ask for directions. Wave at perfect strangers. Smile. Stop to say hello. Where there is a dedicated community man willing to drive lead to a carload of women from Virginia to see the tornado ravaged area, when there's most certainly more pressing matters that need attention.

My oldest lifetime friend oriented us to what's going on in the area. Moore is getting a lot of press probably because its the Home of Toby Keith and it's devastation can be seen everyday passing up I- 35 North. It is receiving a lot of Hollywood attention, and a lot of Press coverage. Its a middle class area from the looks of it from the highway. JCPenney's is right down the road from there. No body can forget Moore. The media and its proximity demand attention.

Then there is Little Axe. A little town. A hidden town. A poor town. Where at first pass drive through, we missed the tornado path except for the sheared off trees every where and the tarps covering some roofs. Where its citizens are composed of people like Greg. Lisa. Joy. Teen boys who drag trees across acres and acres of red land to the roadside for pick up on summer vacation. 

A self proclaimed nobody, who got a phone call from his pastor one day after the tornadoes hit, Greg was asked to cover the pastor's ringing phone. Greg did not feel qualified for that task but became the community's overnight hero. He is no longer retired truck driver, and  former trucking business owner due to disability. He is dispatcher for volunteers who show up from all over the country. He is master community networker. He knows where the hungry people are. He knows whose fence still has trees tangled up in it. He knows where the out of state volunteers are working. He knows about the victims without insurance. The ones who are OK. The ones on $800 a month disability who don't need a one time Red Cross handout of $500. (They need their life rebuilt.) Greg is the go to guy for help.

He is part of the kind presence at the church which has become more of a warehouse for bottled water, diapers, tools, canned goods, and hot meals for the hungry, than a church. It is open 9 AM to 6 PM Monday through Friday for Tornado Disaster relief. The youth center across the road is more warehouse space, with mattresses on the floor for volunteers who come here from out of state.

And life goes on as usual here in Little Axe, too. HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign plastered across a mailbox. A graduation sign with balloons marked a driveway. A hawk flew high overhead like a kite keeping watch over the church grounds. Wild flowers are in full bloom against the backdrop of green and more green.

We ministered to Greg on the side of the road. His home was hit too,  and he selflessly dedicates his time to help those without insurance. Those worse off than he. He shared his story with us. Humble. Kind. Dedicated community man, I surmised. We prayed for him for healing in his body and in his emotions. 

Then he took us to meet Lisa at Pecan Valley Junction gas station and pizza place, who made another Disaster relief station under tarp covers and borrowed trailers. 

She owns a hairdressing business, Tangled Up, there. If you are in this area, go get your haircut, washed and blow dried. Her prices are incredible. She says she lives alright, even though bills are tight as a single mom to teen boys. 

She believes people should be able to afford to be beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 sign on Lisa's shop wall

Lisa connected us with Bobbie who connected us to Margaret. Margaret is a grandmother who lost her home completely. Her grand daughter's pony was found a town away, laying down. When the horse heard their voices, she perked up, got up and only had a scratch. Margaret's children live right nearby. Two of them lost their homes. All three places were completely wiped out. Only one family home remains intact. They all live together on Margaret's land in campers. All of the kids, grandkids. Dog and pony. We went back to town and got them groceries. For all three families. God bless them and their strength and unity and give them rest, as life goes on with jobs in the city and destruction at home.

Greg explained that many of these people came here from the city, with only their truck campers, and a few clothes. They built over decades, and lost everything. Old trailers are not insurable, he explained.  Disability checks do not pay for repairs let alone replacements. These folks need MANPOWER & BUILDING SUPPLIES. They need Strong muscles who can cut down and haul trees to the road, bulldozers, Bob Cats, fence menders, builders, building materials, LONG TERM HELP. Groceries for short term. A new trailer for the long term. 

Pray that the church who is considering building 6 new homes comes through. That more builder volunteers come through. That money comes for rebuilding the many  uninsured, poor great grandma's tar paper houses and wiped out 50 year old trailers. That able bodied men, women and teenagers come through until the last place is finished and livable again.There are hundreds of unlivable homes here that still need bulldozed and rebuilt. Don't forget Little Axe, Shawnee or the other little poor towns here that were virtually wiped out in one hour's time, that will take years of dedicated effort to rebuild.

If I ever complain again, or murmur while my brothers and sisters are suffering so, please remind me

to remember Margaret, Greg, Lisa and their community and the disparity between their lives and mine. Of their lives and yours. Of their lives and the lives of those unaffected one city over. And God be with them.

Reminder posted on First Baptist Church wall

Happy Fathers Day

Sunday, June 16, 2013, Location “J” - Day 9

TD Jake's ministry at The Potters House in Dallas, TX was our destination this morning. It seemed out of place for me to enjoy a Father's Day celebration without any of my favorite daddies. No special husband, no dad, no brother. Not even an uncle or male friend. Nevertheless, it was a powerful service in every aspect.

If you ever find yourself looking for a church to visit in Dallas, consider going here at least once. But come an hour early (8 AM) to get a parking space. If you sign in at the registration desk, you will be given a baggie of surprises including a recording of Bishop Jakes. And be sure to go to the new visitor area for a cup of coffee or juice and a snack. Sit in the comfy chairs provided for a short orientation about where the bathrooms are located and then, the gracious and friendly hosts will lead you to a special place to sit.

After service, we made our way out of Dallas into the hills of Oklahoma. We were surprised there were that many hills. We needed a pit stop but there had not been any signs for a while. So we took a chance and got off I-35 and found ourselves on a country highway with nothing to go to. We went left, around winding turns. One place had bathrooms that were out of order. Another had no public bathrooms. We kept going and going. When a heaven sent blessing appeared after camps and tourist cabins sites. The white sign with red letters said: Fried Pies. This Fried Pies place had a gas station in Arbuckle Mountain area in a clean, simple cabin. Not rustic but not contemporary either. Past issues of Southern Living covers hung on the wall. Apparently this place got national attention. All they made was fried pies. Cream filled, fruit filled, and breakfast filled. Plain. Clean. They did one thing and one thing extremely well. The place had a line to its counter, in the middle of know where. Of course we had to sample the local fare. We were using their facilities after all and we were THERE.

I spoke with a family coming through from Kansas to Dallas. They stopped there whenever they were in the area. They were friendly and let me know how much they enjoyed these pies.

We got back on the road and headed to Oklahoma City. The skies were bright blue with puffy clouds suspended in it. But suddenly the skies turned grayer and grayer .It looked like rain up ahead. In true Andy the weather man fashion, I checked the local weather channels and saw that our hotel in Norman was not in the stormy area.

As we got closer to Norman, I began to text my old friend I met before Elementary school in Fremont, California. I named my daughter after her and we have not seen each other since 1999 or so. She lives in Shawnee, OK now and agreed to meet us for dinner. She suggested a casual place in Norman, The Mont, and invited her friend Allison to come and meet us too. She got a table big enough for all of us out on the patio but it began to rain gently, so we moved indoors.

It was so good to see her and meet our new friend, who invited us to come to her home in Norman. I knew all my girls were tired but they came anyway. Allison showed us her cool frequency research equipment that she has that I expect to have in my clinic one day soon. She let us sample them and kept remarking how surprised she was that someone besides her knew about this technology. I was more than delighted by my Father's Day presents to me: A TD Jakes CD, a new friend, an old friend, an Oklahoma treat and The Activate teams' sacrifice for me.

We retired after midnight. Today we will be going into a tornado area. The ground is wet and it looks as though the clouds will break. Stay tuned.

Sweetness and Sorrow

Sweetness & Sorrow

Saturday

This was mostly a travel day after meeting with Kim and several women from FLC San Antonio at Starbucks for breakfast and a few more words of encouragement. I enjoyed the interaction between a mother and her tender, intelligent, conversant child. It made me miss my grandchildren all that much more. And it brought a smile to my lips.

Our GPS took us on a wild goose chase for a while through Austin before we finally found a suitable place t eat lunch, Freebirds World Burrito. Awesome cool place. They have Death sauce there and Pot Brownies (baked in small pots) and let you form tin foil sculptures and decorate the wall with your creations. Sweetness.

The most notable travel time was through West, Texas, the site of the fertilizer plant explosion. This is a toen where people park on one side of the street, pulling in head first, not parallel. We began in the center of town, on a crest of a hill, overlooking farms and fields. 

The rail road tracks on one side, the uptown side on the other. The Antique shop was open and a lovely young lady served as store keeper. This store used to be many things. The walls were old worn brick, the ceilings peeling antique white paint. A faint painted remnant of the old grocery store sign could still be made out on the outside wall. 

We browsed. Made a few personal souvenir purchases and continued to explore the other side of the road, only to come back over soon afterwards. Most businesses close here by noon or 1 PM on Saturdays. We counted a couple restaurants and at least four bars. A floral shop, insurance, thrift store, antique shop and Scoops, a sweet ice cream shop which had only opened five days before. Sweetness.

“We believe West is coming back,” the kind woman at the counter told me. From the looks of things from here, West was already sweet and strong and beautiful.

There was a family already sitting at a booth when we arrived. A mom and her children came in shortly after we did. An older couple soon flowed in and sat up at the counter. Lesa paid for the ice cream of the young mother and her children. Scoops accepts checks, cash, VISA and Mastercard but they don't run debit cards. While there, we found out how to get to the explosion area. We were encouraged to stay at the Inn run by the mayor. We already had hotel arrangements near Dallas.I would have loved to stay there, meet the mayor, pray with the town council. Since everything was closed on Saturday, its unlikely any thing would be open Sunday. Father's Day.

We had no idea the kind of destruction we would see, nor the way hope looks when it is alive and well in the hearts of a shattered community. The photos do not describe half of it.  Sorrow.

We cried. It looked like a war zone. Only a few of the homes looked completely bulldozed and cleared away. Some people left everything and have not returned. Street a after street. Half the town suffered great property losses. Shattered window glass. Caved in roofs. Siding blown off. Brick exteriors. Gone. Charred remains of studs. A chimney stands alone. House after house after house after house. The elementary school. The Middle School all closed down, all in such states of damage that they will most certainly need to be bnulldozed down themselves. But carefully placed in many yards were starts of hope painted by little children with warm sayings. Each one unique. “God Bless West. “ “HOPE.” Swirls of different colored paint. We cried.

We saw several young boys and their dad each using heavy equipment, breaking up what remained from cement slab foundations. As we drove around again to give them a painting of hope I made on the road for such purpose, this family was walking up to the street at the same time. They had not lost a home, But they knew someone who had, and who lost a son. I gave them the painting and said they could keep t for themselves or pass it on to the family they knew.

This day was emotionally exhausting, draining, devastating. We all agreed that this is nothing compared to what we may see in Oklahoma, where the tornadoes ripped miles and miles of peoples' lives apart.

We are getting ready to go to TD Jake's Father's Day service in Dallas this morning. Worship, praise and thanksgiving is a welcome respite. Sweetness.

Oklahoma bound soon.