Tuesday after work, I went to find the Feed The Children food distribution I had previously volunteered to help with.  I found this especially interesting since I work with FTC to ship their food internationally.

I walked up in time to meet two blue-FTC-tshirtted volunteers leaving a mostly empty parking lot where the distribution was in the final stages of cleaning up.

I missed it, but I wasn't too discouraged. I was standing on the edge of an interesting-looking neighborhood, so I decided to go in and take some pictures. As I walked down sidewalks and crossed streets and turned corners I saw people everywhere. Some were walking to places while others were just walking, or sitting.

While walking, I passed one such woman sitting on her steps; she was surrounded by her two kids (that is, two kids that could have been twenty kids at speed they bounced!).  She called out hey and motioned me closer. After saying hi I stood there waiting while she starred at me. Long enough to make me think perhaps she didn't call me after all. Then after some more thought, she asked if I was a "paparazzi."

"No," I smiled.

"Oh, then you're a good samaritan."

Uhh, well, I guess, if those are the two options... okay.

I went on to explain I came to help with the distribution (which was a little ways away from her house), and perhaps that's what she was referring to. That seemed to be satisfactory, because next she told me to lean in closer so no one around would hear what she was about to say.

I'll admit, this piqued my interest a little. I had no idea what she was about to tell me.

And she wasted no time, in hushed tones she delved into what was a long story about herself: the raps she creates--which she doesn't always understand herself; the symbolism of her tattoos (including the two she had done just one night before); and the way the people around her can't seem to grasp her message.

In short, she was special and wanted me to know it. Maybe because I was different looking (a short-haired white boy in a black neighborhood). I'm not sure of the reason, but nevertheless she was insistent upon telling me these things.

Up to this point I hadn't done any talking (except to ask her name. Veronica). Truthfully, I had no idea what to say. I was still back trying to figure out what was going on. Everything in her body language suggested she was being honest in her intention. So, I kept going with it.

As she bounced from one topic to another, she touched a few times on some vague ideas of God and eternity and her life-mission--which, I may add, consisted of not many more words than that.

It was here I intervened to ask this direct woman a pointblank question: "Veronica, where are you going when you die?" With not much confidence, she relayed to me lines she'd heard before about good people going to heaven, so I got specific and asked her in a new way: "Veronica, where are you going when you die?"

I began to see she was thinking. Not regurgitating.

From here we talked openly about how a person gets to heaven, how it's not about good people doing good things, and how everyone has to chose for themselves.

Growing up in this city, everyone knows something about God; there are subcultures upon subcultures all laced with their own theologies about how to get to heaven. The details are never boring, but the end results are always the same, be good: go to heaven. As we talked I listened to what she said, and she was reinforcing this.

After we had been through what the Bible says about becoming a Christian, I asked her if she wanted that.

She did. We prayed. She's in.

Veronica:

GroundZero

This past weekend I got to meet a lot of interesting people including the Sierra Leonian ambassadors to the United States and Germany. The conference itself was also very interesting, not only because of the people, but because of the thrust behind it. Truly a conglomeration of people who care deeply deeply about the success of this small west African country--wether it be the education, clean water, or clean living, all were together brainstorming about the future.

It was quite encouraging.

There is something inherently smart about being able to introduce yourself as Smart. Because it's your first name.

Smart.Jack and our host, Steve.My good friend Denise who travled with me. She actually posed for a picture, but I thought this was a little too quintessential to pass up.

Tomorrow: NYC part 1

Saturday morning I walked down the CBD side of Carondelet.  The emptiness that so contrasted the weekday busyness put me in a quietly soothed mood as I crossed the streets and cut through empty parking lots.

I began this morning on Carondelet on a mission.  But as I walked toward my mission I instantly missed the way I used to wander this city's streets with no intent but to explore, camera in hand.

In the course of the walk, the purpose of my being their--my mission--fell through.  I was relieved to be able to play on my whims in the moment.

As I continued to walk, the early Sun was already high and all around me. It lay on the top of my head, and when I was in the shade it found me by bouncing sideways off the buildings.  It was almost ninety degrees.  But the eerie emptiness of the morning felt so good, I didn't want to stop.  I was loving each and every one of the ninety degrees around me.

One of the interesting things about walking city streets when no one is out is to see the people that are out.  They seem to be such characters on the landscape, perhaps due to their scarcity.  Each person I see, I wonder what they are doing here.  Where are they going at ten a.m. on a Saturday.

If you love to observe people as much as I do, then you know what I'm talking about.  Empty streets show the world.

Being in a position of leadership is not about power.  It's about the very opposite.  It's about having more responsibility than you "should" and having everyone complain to you about things you can't control.  And when I say complain, I don't mean polite emails that fall over themselves to let you know how much you are appreciated.  No, I'm talking about the hunt-you-down-and-yell-and-stare-in-your-face-until-you-give-me-what-I-want kind of a situation.  you knowwhatimean.

Normally, our [read: my] nature is to smile and retort with some flowery form of "if you wouldn't mind, to be so kind, and [shove] off!"  but, unfortunately, being in this position and responding ilke this would negate everything you're working for.

Assuming, that is, you know what (and whom) you're working for.

Have you ever thought in retrospect the differences between Sunday School illustrations of the right and wrong attitude, and real life?  Why is the gap between the two so big?  Really, conceptually, we all get it when we're sitting in Sunday School.  But somehow real life tails this lesson at a deceptively slow pace.  Giving us too much time to get comfortable, and then, oops.  It's like it has a mind of it's own.  Oh wait.  It does.  It's called Satan.

But it can't be enough to slap a name on it.  To know there's a problem and not do anything about it is useless, right?  right.  It's under this guise I've been thinking about the significant difference that happens between the intellectual lessons we are taught and the practical examples we learn.

Is not pride the one thing that always gets left out on the front end?

For instance, we read the illustration of Jesus, perfection, and of the pharisees, our symbolic enemy in today's world.  Then we read the illustrations of the disciples.  Those silly disciples, and how they keep messing up on the easiest of lessons.  In our minds, we're Jesus.  Be honest.  I mean, yeah, you see a lot of 'disciples' around you, but ya know, come on.  Jesus.

Let me put it another way.  Anyone sitting in a cushioned, metal-frame chair can agree to be a martyr.  I have.  After all, the definition of a martyr is one who does for a cause they believe in, not one who dies as a punishment for their wrongdoing.  Jesus died like this.  I'm supposed to be like Jesus.  When I'm persecuted, this is what's happening.

Well.  Hopefully.

But really, when was the last time you were a martyr.  In principle, not in real life, of course.  Aren't we normally finding ourselves in the disciples' position instead.  Our lives turned upside down by principles that are contrary to the world around us.

This is where our duality comes in.  Die to our old self (which was already dead), and live to our God who saved us.

The core of so many of the issues we face involves putting our own pride first.  We have a right to be here or do this, how dare you repress and take that from me.  Me.  If we're REALLY being honest, and we do a little research, we can see what a deep-set social condition this is.  Example: were our founding fathers biblical in their rebellion from England?  Not if Jesus tells us to submit to government.  Oooo.  Right.

Maybe that 'founding father ' reference seems a little left-field at this point.  It's not.  As logical, thinking entities, we strive to find consistancy.  This is the fundamental principle of logic and learning.  It's how we are.

When you read the Bible, and you compare it to life, all kinds of questions arise.  Many are centered in our daily lives--why we do what we do.  To understand that is to know the motive.

Most of the time I find myself in a position fighting for my pride.  whether I single-handedly shoveled that gargantuan hole I'm standing in, or whether I was simply pushed into it.  I'm here defending something.  My right.

Again, to go historical on you, it reminds me of the nine most famous words from Lincoln's Gettysburg Address: "of the people, for the people, by the people."  Normally, you hear the emphasis on the word "of."  But I've heard historians claim the emphasis was actually on the word, "people."  Of the people, by the people, for the people.

Don't misunderstand my patriotism or my respect for the people who selfishly died and continue to die for all the freedoms I abuse today.  It's there.  And I hold these people in great regard.  But like the old saying: don't throw out the baby with the bathwater.  to leave this sentiment alone solely our of respect would be a huge mistake and oversight on our part as Christians.

Our world in America is centered around what is best for us, seemingly by design.  We are individuals who strive to be unique.  We are born and bred to conquer, strong-arm, and crush anything that finds itself between us and that goal.

Poor "anything" one might say after breathing in that wave of adrenaline.

...

Poor "we" I say.

The Bible tells us why we're here.
The Bible tells us what we're supposed to be doing.
The Bible tells us how to do it.
The Bible tells us our reward for doing this.

There's a pattern here.

What is the one thing that constantly dives us away from this simplicity?  Pride.

The answer to how we fix this flies in the face of conventional wisdom.  Truly we cannot fix it.  God does the fixing.  But we are commanded to take the first step: No pride.

...been on my mind lately.

joe

I'm officially amending my barista project to include the service staff of diners.  They're similar in a lot of ways, and, in this case, I was in a diner not a coffee shop.  So there.

If you're not familiar, I'm doing an ongoing project in the city of portraiting baristas (and now diner-ers).

This is a guy, who's name, I think could start with an S.  He works at the Clover Grill Cafe on the corner of Bourbon and Dumaine in the French Quarter.  Nice guy.  Brought us food.

Took a couple weeks off to focus on other things, rethink strategies, and read books.

But now I'm back.

I recently went with my friend Que in search of, uhmmm, uh--it's a secret.  Just know we went 'in search.'  And it was fun.  There's gonna be a part two to this in the somewhat near future.

Here are a few from it.

We also found the India House hostile off Canal Street.  I had no idea it was there.  We went in and had a quick look around.

And look, they're Finnish.

The other night, my good friend Michelle and I had dinner at El Gato Negro.  If you know me, you know I rarely get in a tizzy over food.  Come to think of, I'm not sure I'd ever own up to be in a "tizzy" at all.  But nevertheless, if I did, it wouldn't be for El Gato Negro.  Nothing wrong with it--the food and service were both good (chips were a little weird), just didn't make the top five percent.After we left, we went to get coffee at enVie on the corner of Barracks and Decatur.  It was very nice.  I had tea.

While we were there, I ask Blossom, the barista, if she would be a part of my ongoing project about coffee baristas around the city, and she did.  Plus, she was really pretty.Blossom:

After much deliberation (aka: I was really tired the other night), I decided to break this into two posts.  Not as clever as Katie who divided her by expression. Nice.

This shoot took place up and down Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive.  Toward the end of the night we migrated toward the Magazine area.

"That's absolutely rid--no...that's, no.  Just, no.  ...what were you thinking." I don't remember what was happening here, but I think it went like her saying these words.
Really, this is one of my favorites from the whole shoot.  Not an out-take at all.  But it was kind of getting lost in the first post, and it was too good for that.This was us using the natural slither of strong, directional light from the Sun.  It was about a head too short.  If you go back to Tuesday's post, you can see the headshot that corresponds to this awkward hold it-hold! it pose.Isaac was a street preacher setting up in the neutral ground.  He let us pose with his podium."Pop" actually 'found' us.  We had just finished using a location and were moving on when he chased after us.  Take a picture with me? I instantly agreed, looked back and realized I probably should have asked McKenzie first.  Oops.  But she was totally cool with it, as always.

By the way, Pop left us with strict instructions to post this on Facebook.  Look for it.