By Sally Dubroc

For most people, the BP oil spill is something happening “over there,” but for others, this event has been life changing. My job as conference coordinator for the Diocese of Houma-Thibodaux in Louisiana places me at the heart of the oil spill. Our largest event, Steubenville on the Bayou, brought 3,200 participants to Houma, La., June 18-20, 2010. Housing has never been an issue because of the large amount of hotel rooms in the city as well as dorm rooms at a university in neighboring Thibodaux.

About four weeks before this year’s conference, the Office of Homeland security, along with officials from BP, informed local hotels that, regardless of any prior bookings, the rooms in Houma were now reserved for the BP cleanup crew and others affiliated with the oil spill. The Houma-Terrebonne CVB, along with several hoteliers, called to inform us of the development immediately.

While the news was somewhat surprising, we focused on the fact that God had ordained this event and wanted it to happen. The area would benefit in many ways, especially spiritually. He had a plan and our role was to listen and adhere to it.

Our amazing staff was ready to serve: our bishop, a man with a heart for evangelism and an unfailing faith; the priests and conference staff, a hardworking, faithful group who readily accepted any challenge; and the chairpersons committee of 42 individuals granted my requests with ease. In addition, the 250 volunteers registered to help with the conference were willing to serve regardless of the task. The local tourism bureau worked with bureaus in the surrounding area to help us. Most importantly, a large group of intercessors committed to daily prayer for our staff, volunteers and our events.

Within two days, the potential crisis was averted. An e-mail was sent to local pastors, and churches quickly offered to house youth groups. Some of the local youth groups who originally planned to stay in hotels canceled their reservations so that groups coming from farther away could have the rooms. Calls were made to tourism bureaus up to 50 miles away. In no time, we received names of available hotels eager to help. Some of the local hoteliers worked diligently to free as many rooms as possible. Although an extra strain was put on some attendees, we did not have one cancellation.

God also reminded me of a few other things:

This was not happening to us. Perhaps things seemed stressful for a day or two, but this crisis happened to the families who lost loved ones, those who are now jobless, to the businesses that have fewer customers, and to people who have lived and worked along the gulf for generations. Losing our hotel rooms meant that the people helping in the oil spill had a place to stay, not that the people coming to our conference were “kicked out.”

The lesson of perseverance as a key to coordinating any event was also reinforced. There will always be things that block us from doing what we feel called to do but if we push through, we get to that light at the end of the tunnel. (Hebrews 12:1)

Finally, I was reminded that I don’t have all of the answers and I am not supposed to. As conference coordinator, my job is to bring all the parts together so that the participants experience a dynamic, spirit-filled event. Thankfully, God has placed people in key positions who know much more than I do about the various elements and I am happy to defer to them when necessary. The answers lie in Him and not in us. We are all instruments.

Most meeting planners thrive when they have ample time to do what they do best: plan. We find pleasure in knowing every detail is covered. Whether it’s a citywide event, national conference or weekly church service it takes quite a lot of preparation to make it all happen. But what happens when that time and careful planning is stripped away? What happens when you have no time to plan, no time to prepare and your event just happens? It was a busy day in November full of meetings as our team was preparing for our national onething09 event, which draws 20,000 young adults to downtown Kansas City in December. I began to receive texts and phone calls that one of the morning classes at our Forerunner School of Ministry was still going. I was intrigued but honestly didn’t think much about it until I received a text from my director later that evening: “There are over 1,000 people at FSM. Come as soon as you can.”

As soon as I arrived I was in shock. It wasn’t just a simple group of students hovered in the corner, having a good time and refusing to leave. Our auditorium was filled to capacity! The atmosphere was thick with excitement and a spirit of worship. Young adults were praying for each other and families were looking for seats. Our media and sound team had sprung into action, stage lights were on, lyrics were on the projectors, and the next worship team was ready to take the stage to relieve a team that had been leading for two hours.

What usually takes months to plan was happening before my eyes. It doesn’t take a seasoned event planner to realize this situation was completely backwards. The event started, everyone scrambled and then we got a game plan. That night, in the swirl of activity watching our team shift into overdrive, I began to realize the raw hunger of this generation. There was no marketing plan, no registration, no flurry of e-mails, no preparation whatsoever. Word spread that something real was happening and people showed up. Of course, we cannot expect to sit back and watch events run themselves. There is always a time to plan, prepare and put careful thought into how to carry out an event. However that night, as a Christian event planner, I was forced to reevaluate what I do and why I do it.

When planning an event, for young adults especially, it is not about how flashy you can make the posters, what band you can pay to show up or how many drawings you have for a free iPad. Sure, it gets their attention, but what do they get out of it? They want something more than fleeting pleasures that never satisfy, which is something man can never offer no matter how much time or money we spend. Sometimes we just need to get out of the way and let God be the ultimate coordinator.

Joanna Eitel is the event coordinator for International House of Prayer – KC. The spontaneous event about which Eitel describes continues to this day as the “IHOPU Student Awakening” every Wednesday through Saturday from 6 p.m. to midnight CST. View the live webstream at ihop.org.

By Joan Drammeh

Three things crossed my mind last August as I approached the office of Newton B. Collinson IV, publisher at Collinson Media and Events, with the guidelines for an Army Officer Candidate School letter of recommendation.

First, the fact that my boss, Major Collinson, USMCR, is a man who takes great pride in his service as a Marine Corps officer. Second, the pull-up bar standing tall in Newt’s office, which represented his level of commitment to physical fitness and the limits of my own female form. Third, the “Our Heroes” whiteboard that hangs in the office break room and lists names of enlisted soldiers who hold a special place in the hearts and prayers of Collinson employees.

From the moment I entered his office to my final day of work in March 2010, Newt and the Collinson family and staff offered me nothing but support and well wishes.

They also kept me on my toes. Although Newt III, president of Collinson Media and Events, never yelled, “drop and give me 20,” he did keep me alert with weekly reminders of my impending ship out date. “How many days left Joan?” he would greet me in the mornings.
One day I arrived at work to discover a jug of creatine supplements on my desk compliments of Chris Collinson, publisher of Rejuvenate, a man on a health kick who would put Russell Simmons to shame.

With an energy supplement infused into a workout regime consisting of 3-mile morning runs and nightly dates with Tony Horton and Shaun T. — famed fitness gurus of P90X and Insanity workout programs — my confidence grew and the possibility of surviving boot camp seemed feasible.
My final day of work included a camouflage-themed surprise party filled with smiling faces, kind words, many hugs and detailed demonstrations on the proper way to do a military push-up. Looking around the room I saw examples of female empowerment in Chief Financial Officer Leslie Collinson and Editorial Director Christine Born. As I prepared to leave one family to join another, it was comforting to know my name would soon be a fixture on the esteemed Collinson whiteboard.

Joan Drammeh is currently at boot camp in Fort Sill, Okla. She will attend Officer Candidate School in Fort Benning, Ga. Her Military Occupational Specialty is Intelligence.

Luke Palmerlee and Ronnie Harris take off on a bus tour of Civil Rights sites with the Evangelical Covenant Church’s Sankofa journey.

In August 2009, I embarked on a Sankofa journey with an Evangelical Covenant Church group of 30. The Sankofa journey is an international, cross-racial prayer journey that confronts the social ills related to racism. Named after a West African word meaning “looking backward to move forward,” the Sankofa experience explores historic civil rights landmarks and seeks to move participants toward healing the wounds and racial divide caused by hundreds of years of racial injustice in the United States.

On this 72-hour bus journey, we visited critical sites of past and present racial injustice in Birmingham, Ala., Memphis, Tenn., and Albany and Atlanta, Ga. Each day participants were paired with someone of a different ethnic background. The schedule was grueling, including spending two nights sleeping on the bus, but the benefits and life lessons I learned far outweighed any discomfort experienced.

Admittedly, I was outside my comfort zone on many levels on this journey. For me, growing up in a suburban community with little interaction with African Americans I had not been forced to deal with issues of race or racism; my school, community and church were predominately white. In college and beyond I had opportunities to live and interact in a diverse community living on the north side of Chicago. I knew racism still existed in our society but as a white, middle-class privileged male, I could choose not to deal with it.

Through this journey I learned the stories, history and lives of my African-American brothers and sisters in Christ who are forced to deal with racism on a daily basis. I was challenged to make the choice to be part of the progress toward healing and reconciliation. We cannot change the past but we can learn from it and make the future a better place. One person may not be able to change our society’s views but that should not stop us from trying; we can make a difference within our circle of influence and that is a worthwhile goal.

By Stephen Perry

Stephen Perry

Voluntourism. It is an interesting “buzzword” in the travel industry these days, but in New Orleans we have seen its power.

During the last three and a half years, New Orleans hospitality industry has benefitted greatly from this newly touted form of travel, which combines a travel experience with the opportunity to get your hands dirty, to expend some sweat equity and, more importantly, giving you the opportunity to touch lives. Good people have given their elbow grease, lots of sweat, the occasional blood and quite often tears to help our city in its ongoing rebirth. The tears have been tears of joy and gratitude for the possibilities made into reality — tears for a job well done.

More often than not, convention and meetings groups that have come to New Orleans, whether a professional association, tradeshow or corporation, have incorporated some form of community service into their agendas. The buzz phrase in the corporate world is “corporate social responsibility,” and no other city has been able to offer CSR opportunities like New Orleans. Engaging a group of people in a community service project has proven to be a great exercise in team building and a true gift to the city.

Tour groups, church organizations, fraternal organizations, entertainment-based groups and television shows have all lent their efforts and focus to voluntourism. The media has paid attention, as well they should, and has told countless good news stories showcasing the generosity of so many.

Speaking of so many, the city witnessed the most inspiring of these outpourings when 37,000 attendees landed in the city this past July for the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America’s gathering. It was the largest convention to be held in New Orleans, certainly since August 2005, and perhaps one of the most meaningful. Decked out in brightly colored t-shirts, all the 37,000 plus took to the streets, parks, schools and playgrounds of the city, giving more than 222,000 hours towards our city’s continuing recovery.

Shouts of “thank you for coming to our city” and “thank you for all you are doing” echoed throughout the city streets. It was not uncommon to hear automobiles honking their horns in gratitude as flocks of ELCA teens walked the streets of the French Quarter, Central Business District and the city’s Warehouse District, going to and from meetings, attractions and the Louisiana Superdome, where they gathered for evening activities.

To say these five days in New Orleans was inspirational is an understatement. And as if to say thanks as well, the weather gods smiled upon the city and the teens as a “cool front” — if you can imagine such a thing in New Orleans in July — brought sunshine and dry air to make the hauling and trimming, the landscaping and painting a little easier to bear.

I’ve said this and many others have said the same: New Orleans would not be as far along in its restoration if not for the more than 2 million people who have given of their personal time to gut, tear down, clean, clear, rebuild, repair, repaint, refurbish, and recreate homes, schools, libraries, parks, playgrounds and neighborhood restaurants. We all hope an opportunity like this does not come often, but we are a better city and better people for it.

Stephen Perry is president and CEO of the Greater New Orleans CVB.

By Jennifer Garrett

The two spirited blondes singing and dancing on stage may look familiar. That’s because Michelle DellaFave and Lindsay Bloom first met on “The Dean Martin Show” as part of his singing and dancing group, The Golddiggers, and with the quartet that later developed on the show, The Dingaling sisters. Bloom went on to act in TV shows such as “The New Mike Hammer,” “Starsky and Hutch,” “Dallas,” and others, while DellaFave acted in theater and released two solo albums. But these days the women are using their talents in a whole new way.

The duo, known as Blue Eyed Soul, reunited for the first time in 35 years for a performance at the 25th anniversary of the Vietnam Wall Memorial in the fall of 2007, and since then their act has taken off as they tour the country regularly performing for veterans groups and visiting hospitals.

Popular with veterans for two USO tours she made with Bob Hope in 1969 and ’70, DellaFave had previously reconnected with her fan base when she and two other Dingaling sisters reenacted their famous Funky Chicken dance at a national convention for the veterans. When the veterans asked her to return for the Wall anniversary, she brought along Bloom. Once Bloom and DellaFave performed, the veterans couldn’t get enough of them, and the women felt the same way. “We are both born-again Christians, and we decided this was a wonderful thing we could do for these guys who gave so much and were treated so poorly upon their return,” Bloom says.

Veterans frequently tell DellaFave how much her performances at USO shows during Vietnam encouraged them at the time, and Blue Eyed Soul hopes to continue that purpose. Their current show includes dancing and singing popular songs from the ’60s and ’70s, but most of all Bloom says they simply want to lift people’s spirits and bring joy to people who are struggling. “Every time we perform, we try to let our light shine—not just our personalities but God’s light through us,” she says. “This time we have together is a special time, especially with the veterans, we want to give them hope … tell them that in this moment of time they are appreciated, and we love them.”

From praying with a marine in a D.C. hospital who had been shot in the head to encouraging women at the Walker House, a women veterans’ transitional residence in Philadelphia, the pair shares their faith with others well beyond the stage. “I prayed specifically for one lady [at the Walker House], and she sent me a two-page letter filled with so much love and compassion,” says Bloom. “I just think we only go around this world once, and we can either touch people’s lives or stay in our houses. I want to get out and touch people.”

For more information visit michelleandlindsay.com.

By Kendra Hand

Leaving one’s comfort zone behind can be a terrifying, surreal experience. That’s what I found out last summer during an internship that took me from the grassy suburbs of Atlanta into the heart of the inner city. I was surrounded by people who looked like me, people I connected with, yet I felt culturally alienated, a long way from my comfort zone.

Working with the Atlanta Inner-City Ministry (AIM), I was responsible for organizing weekly programs and a weeklong overnight camp for children who lived in the local communities around Lakewood Church of Christ. Lakewood is a poverty-stricken area south of downtown Atlanta. I understood that the children would have a different background than my upper-middle-class upbringing, and I braced myself.

Every Tuesday and Wednesday, I traveled with various AIM staffers in a school bus to pick up 50 to 60 children ages 6 to 14. The children would get on the bus tattered, loud, and aggressive. To my outsider eyes, they appeared neglected and negatively influenced. But there was no mistaking the joy that lit up their faces when the bus with “Atlanta Inner-City Ministry” on its side came honking onto their streets. This is when my presumptions began to dissolve, when I began to see the kids on the bus for who they really are: children.

For too long, I had built up an image of inner-city Atlanta as a hopeless vat of failure. When I thought of southeast Atlanta where Lakewood is located, I simply thought “ghetto,” a place to avoid, because it housed dangerous people and toxic minds. But when I saw the children, poor and happy, impoverished and innocent, misunderstood and hopeful, I realized my preconceived notions were just that, notions.

It occurred to me that these children were to a very large extent a product of their environment, just as I am a product of mine. How could I have judged the most pure of God’s creatures when all they were guilty of was learning from their surroundings and acting the only way they knew? Regardless of our socioeconomic standing and of our rearing, we were the same in our primal right.

Throughout the summer, I formed a bond with the children and others in the Lakewood Church area. The more people I spoke to, the more my prejudices disintegrated. No more was there them and me; we were one as a people trying to hold our own in an often unmerciful world. I left my internship with a humbled feeling of belonging, the borders of my comfort zone enormously expanded.

The children’s communities lay in rubble now; they’ve been bulldozed to make way for condos and apartments for the well-to-do. It’s strange that as these inner-city streets have disappeared, so have my misconceptions about the people who lived there. And for that I have the children to thank, wherever they live now.

By Joyce A. Crider

It was not shocking when I learned that my job was being eliminated last June, but it was disappointing. Certainly I knew the new director of the organization would make changes, but I thought I was “essential” and my job had so many aspects that no one could ever possibly replace me. How many friends in the past had I told that everybody is replaceable? Somehow when it was me that was being replaced, I felt differently.

I began to grasp the reality that I had to support myself and move on. I sent my resume to all my networking contacts. I answered a few ads. Everyone I contacted was very sympathetic and offered to help, but no jobs were in the offing. There was just not much of a market for seventy-year-olds no matter what my education or skills. So I decided to retire.

I had purchased a condo in Arlington, Virginia, at the “wrong time” in the real estate market and along with so many others I was going to have to let it go into foreclosure. That was embarrassing. I was the vice president of the Condo Association. Then I discovered I could sell my condo, but I would have to take a loss.

My favorite Scripture verse since I was a child is “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.” (Philip-pians 4:13).  Soon I began to understand that the real way this works as I am sure St. Paul understood, is that the “through Christ” part comes from others.

I began to ponder my options when the executive director offered to let me continue my position as editor of Catechetical Leader magazine at a fixed monthly amount. That was reassuring and I was very pleased to know I would have that income, but it was not enough to make ends meet even with Social Security and a small monthly pension and continue living in the Washington, D.C. area.

I have moved 12 times in my adult life. I just felt that I could not pack up all my “stuff” and move again, but my friends said, “Yes, you can.” I am a native of Atlanta. I have many friends here ready to welcome me home. It just seemed reasonable to move back. Especially when a dear friend confirmed for me that even though she would miss me, it was the best thing I could do. With the help of friends and people I did not even know, my house was soon packed.

I found a wonderful apartment home in Alpharetta, Georgia, near my childhood friends, my small faith-community, and my fantastic parish (which paid my moving costs). Now that my cat, Gus, and I are all settled in and I have received more freelance opportunities I know for sure that…Yes, I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me through the help and kindness of others.

While attending a lunchtime aerobics class several years ago at the First Baptist Church in downtown Jackson, I happened to learn about the Buried Treasures Ministry. This group ministers to incarcerated women and provides for their children through a “Dress A Child” project. I decided to participate in the ministry, and that’s how I came to be shopping in August 2003 with Matilda Thomas, who was raising her four precious, young grandchildren while their mother served time in prison. Three boys and a girl—just like my own family growing up.

About a year later, Matilda and her grandchildren were without a home as a result of Matilda’s divorce. With the help of my church, the First Baptist Church Madison, and the Buried Treasures Ministry, we eventually were able to get Matilda qualified to own a home through a housing assistance program. But because of the demand for housing created by Hurricane Katrina in 2005, Matilda’s home construction became a two-year process.

In the meantime, I became involved in another Buried Treasures project. I learned through Nicki and Dick Benz, the founders of the organization, that the women in prison needed a prayer journal. Because of prison code restrictions on bindings, all that they had was loose-leaf paper. I searched the Christian bookstores and couldn’t find anything suitable. It became apparent to me that I was going to have to write a journal that could be approved for prison use, and that was also simple and easy to read. I decided that the focus would be on prayers of the Bible and learning how to pray. I set out to tackle this “small task” and found that I had a lot to learn!

But God sent His friends to help me, and the Buried Treasures Journal was born. The original 60 copies went to the Buried Treasures’ ladies and another ministry for women. Well, before I knew it requests for the prayer journal from various prison ministries poured in. But the cost of printing another 100 books was going to be $3,000, not exactly in my humble budget. Knowing that I would be giving these away, I had to find a way to afford the printing. My print rep suggested that I print 1,000 copies; give away 500 and sell 500 to pay the printing cost. You can imagine the price tag on that one. But I jumped in, thinking in my usual way, “Oh well, it will work out.”

Well, a lot has worked out since that time. I have fulfilled many requests for journals from prison ministries around the state and have actually sold some as well. Matilda and her family moved into their beautiful home, and her daughter in prison accepted Jesus Christ. In addition, an interesting development came from a call I received from the Mississippi Department of Corrections last month.

As it turns out, Mississippi will be the host of the National Adult and Juvenile Female Offender Conference in October 2009. After a planning meeting in my office with representatives of the organization, I learned something very important—that prison ministry programs are the number one contributing factor for women not returning to prison. The conference organizers also said they would like to use the prayer journal for a workshop.

And so the Buried Treasures’ journey continues.

Most conferences are about learning. Learning how to think more critically about our finances, jobs, marriages, etc. Learning how to overcome fears, failures, and setbacks. Learning how to be more efficient, more faithful, or more successful. At a recent conference I learned something different: Men Never Grow Up; They Just Learn How to Act Civilized Around Their Wives.

No, this was not the theme of the week or the topic of one of the sessions. When I went to the National Conference on Youth Ministries in Colorado Springs in January, I flew solo. My wife and son stayed in Atlanta. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was providence, but three of my buddies from college also arrived without their wives. The moment we greeted each other, our collective meter of maturity took a nose dive, and pretty much stayed that way for the next couple of days.

Once again we were out at Denny’s at 1 a.m., eating pie and laughing ourselves sick. Once again we were ordering pizza and watching football. Once again we were borrowing room service trays to go sledding on the beautiful snow of Colorado. (Okay, I admit, that is a new one.) But our fortuitous man-gathering was not just about regressing to our former selves. Denny’s, Papa John’s, and that snowy hill turned out to be the perfect forums for sharing life—the good, the confusing, the funny, the sad, and the indefinable. Leadership can be lonely, and what I needed most wasn’t more advice, more resources, more motivation. I needed lunch with JT. I needed time with friends to connect personally, honestly.

I have been to NCYM four times. One of the emphases of the conference each year is the Covenant Groups. When you register you are offered the opportunity to join one, start one, or just continue one from the year before. Participation is not required, but at 10 p.m. all other activities cease and all are encouraged to gather in small groups to enrich, encourage, and bless each other’s lives.

I could take half the day describing the powerful effect of the worship, the keynotes, the early morning Bible studies, the conference sessions. But what struck me most in this last conference was the realization that we all have a powerful need to not just learn, but to learn together.

Most conferences are about learning. But this one offered so much more. Four days at a conference in Colorado with my college buddies turned out to be not just fun but profound. Who would have thought?

Shawn Duncan is the Youth Minister at Northlake Church in Tucker, Georgia. He has worked with teenagers for seven years.