Never Forget Second Chances

     Yesterday I was not impressed with New Orleans.  I jumped to judgement.  And this morning I was reminded of resurrection and second chances.
     I left the hostel and drove through the French Quarter to watch a tanker truck spraying the streets with soapy, water leaving the street fragrant with clean.  I saw a city worker pressure washing steps where spectators watched break dancers spin and wow the night before.  I followed a street sweeper past the French market and cruised past Bourbon street to see industrious shop keepers, delivery drivers and workers restoring, restocking and renewing for another day.  "Perhaps they know something of human hungers, brokenness and redemption," I thought. 
     Then I drove to the 9th ward where Hurricane Katrina devastated lives and property in 2005, only to find partial restoration, limping architecture, and scared landscape that rivaled developing nations.  Why is it that the poor are forgotten so easily?  Why is the 9th Ward not clean and the economics of Bourbon street bring 24 hour renewal?

    I ended my morning tour at the end of Canal St. in the picturesque and historic cemeteries of the city.  Then it hit me.  Never forget second chances.  I'm as broken and needy and unpredictable as the next human being.  My eyes see another's brokenness and so easily miss my own.  (Or see the speck in my friends eye and miss the log in my own.)  The things that are unattractive to me may be another's treasure.  My brokenness always looks better to me than my neighbor's brokenness.
    The morning reminded me once again to Live Love with second chances, redemption, newness, and plain-old kindness.  Where do you need to offer a second chance?