The annual bill for our home’s flood insurance came Tuesday and I paid it without a thought. This time last year I decided to cancel it. After all, where we live is high ground, outside the official flood zone, so why throw away good money, I reasoned. I said to Margaret, “After all, if we get flooded, New Orleans is gone, and what’s the chance of that.” That started our little husband-and-wife conversation.

“I would feel bad not having flood insurance,” she said. “Honey, it’s two hundred and sixty bucks down the drain. It’s not a lot of money, granted, but why buy it if we’re not ever going to need it.” “Just the same,” she said, “I’d feel safer with it.”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” I said. “I’ll call Bob Swanson down the street. He’s an agent for the company that insures our house. Let’s see what he’s doing.” Bob, the nicest guy on the planet and a fine Christian men (is that redundant?), said, “We had the same conversation. Kay wants us to carry flood insurance and I wanted to cancel it. I decided it’s worth that little amount for her to have peace of mind.” “I’d about decided the same thing myself,” I told him and wrote the check. Margaret gave me a hug.

We did not need the flood insurance. The elevation out here in this western suburb of metro New Orleans is–you ready for this?–thirteen. We had the typical wind damage–stripping the shingles off the roof, water leaking into the house, mold, etc.–but no floodwater. We were indeed blessed.

A lot of people in our area of the world had canceled their flood insurance because the authorities told them they were outside the flood zone and safe. They saved that $260 or so. And lost everything. How does that ancient line go–pennywise and pound foolish. But how could they have known.

On the other hand….

Nearly two years ago when I went to work for our association, our administrative assistant told me about the cancer insurance they carry on the employees. “Want it?” she said. And in one of the stupidest, most flippant answers ever, I said, “No. I don’t plan to have cancer.” Which I did before the year was out. In the words of the noted philosopher Gomer Pyle, “Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

What would make life so much easier would be the ability to see into the future. We would know what insurance to carry and what to cancel. Where to build and what to avoid. When to stay home and not get out of bed. When to attack, when to retreat. What route to take, roads to avoid, foods to eat. What new acquaintances to befriend and whom to shun. Where to invest, which stocks to cash in.

It’s amazing how much of life has to be lived on faith. You study the evidence and then make a faith choice. To buy this insurance and let that policy lapse. To marry this person and run from the other. To take your blood pressure medicine every day no matter how great you feel. To get your checkup even when you have no symptoms. Investments, relationships, health care, insurance, home-building–all are matters of faith. That is to say, since you cannot know the future, you get all the evidence you can and make extrapolations into the future. And because life takes unexpected turns, some you win, some you lose. You hope you win more than you lose.

The ultimate faith decision, of course, is the choice of Gods. The decision on what to put at the center of one’s life. What to worship, yes, but more than that. What standard to use as the guide in all of life’s matters. Some call that religion. Others shy away from that because ‘religion’ is a catch-all category that can include everything from bowing before dead ancestors to burning incense to demons to reading the Gospel of John and loving one’s neighbor. As Joshua told the Israelites on one occasion, “Choose you this day whom you shall serve.” That’s the point: whom to serve.

Either way, it’s a matter of faith. Old and New Testaments alike declare that “the just shall live by faith.” Fact is, whether you are just or unjust, you still live by faith. The only question is: faith in what?

The last outdoor service of Dixieland Mission

This week I ran across a bulletin from the July 30 block party held on the levee behind the Dixieland trailer park, a mile west of the New Orleans Airport on Airline Highway. Mitch Mares, our mission pastor, had pulled together a bunch of folks from First Baptist-Kenner to help him, as he did twice a year, to put on this party for his people. They grilled burgers and hot dogs, pitched horseshoes, threw balls, played games, and gave gifts to the residents of that sad little trailer park which I’ve called the last stop on the road to the poorhouse as well as the bottom of the food chain. And they held a worship service at which Mitch preached. Sixty trailers, perhaps twice that many residents, and we’d have half of them at our party. Sometimes Mitch and the church team would give school supplies to everyone, sometimes a gift bag containing various goodies and a Bible. Over his four years or so as pastor, Mitch and Traci must have led 75 or 80 people to the Lord. (They were fairly transient.) And he baptized many of those.

Anyway, getting to the point. Looking at the bulletin of that service under the tent, the songs we sang that day–almost one month exactly before Katrina destroyed the trailer park and put a massive tree across Mitch and Traci’s doublewide where they held services–were the following: “Built on the Rock,” “My Foundation,” “Firm Foundation,” and “The House on the Rock.” Mitch’s Scripture was Matthew 7:24-27, the passage about building on sand or rock and the storms that come. The invitation that followed his message was “Have Thine Own Way, Lord.”

We look back now and think, “How perfect. God did that.”

(The owners of the trailer park cleaned out the broken trailers and invited construction workers to park their campers there for a nice fee, then told First Baptist Church to move their broken double-wide out of their park. Church custodian Ron Moskau said, “We will, just as soon as you get your tree out of our living room.” Mitch and Traci are living in the Columbus, Georgia, area.)

You can sure tell a hurricane went through here….

People from outside the area wonder what New Orleans is like now. The quick answer is, “Pretty much like it has been for the last seven months.” Much of it still stands stark and barren and ugly. And sad beyond words. We drive through these neighborhoods and our hearts break all over again. Thousands of homes have been gutted out, few have been restored, FEMA trailers are everywhere, a few businesses are trying to reopen, most of the flooded area is still dark, people are still waiting before deciding to rebuild.

But you don’t have to drive through flooded New Orleans to see the remnants of the hurricane. The evidence is everywhere, even in “normal” Jefferson Parish where the population is almost as high as pre-K. You can stand at any point in the parish and look around and see plenty of evidences of the storm. I did that the other day and made a list of what I saw.

1. Broken signs in front of stores.

2. Signs with missing letters in front of stores.

3. Closed stores.

4. Signs announcing, “We’re Open.”

5. Signs announcing, “We’re Hiring.”

6. A scarcity of trees.

7. Roofs missing tiles and shingles.

8. Roofs covered by the blue plastic tarp.

9. Horrendous traffic on every major artery.

10. Construction trucks everywhere.

11. Litter on the streets from trucks hauling trash.

12. New fences. New roofs. Holes in lawns where trees once stood.

But the Lord is at work in the midst of all this. Here are a few evidences I’ve seen this week…

1. The youth evangelist from Fort Worth who came by our office Thursday to tell about the event he is planning for July 2007. He will bring in thousands of Texas youth to work in the day, and they will take over the University of New Orleans Lakefront Arena each night for a month for worship, praise, Bible study.

2. Two men from Florida who flew in to talk to various leaders and see what needs doing next. They seem to have a special burden for rebuilding the homes of our pastors.

3. The church in our state that is committing itself to helping our churches rebuild their libraries, upgrading them in every way to do a far superior job of ministering to people.

4. The encouragement local pastors tell me they feel from our denominational leaders, editors, and visitors.

5. The reports I receive every day of volunteer groups from around the country helping this church or that one.

I said to the two Floridians, “One way I know the Lord has not forgotten us is you. You are here because He sent you. Thank you.”

There’s a great little line in Isaiah 49 that fits here. Israel had accused God of forgetting and forsaking them, a feeling everyone probably has at one time or another. God’s answer is a real keeper.

“Can a woman forget her nursing child? And have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”

Think of it. God could not forget me if He wanted to. All He has to do is look at the scars in His hands and there I am.

Excuse me while I go worship.