I write this from a better position than the one I was in four years ago.

The irony in that statement is that, geographically, I'm in nearly the exact position I laid an Olympiad back: The second bedroom on the side addition to the house that has been in my family since 1970 (with a brief change of ownership in the early- to mid-90s). This room now functions as a guest bedroom. Its cherrywood bedframe, dresser, and nightstand are rarely used, though friends (should) know that it's there if they need it; its soft blue wall now serves as part of housing for the central air we've since installed. A baby picture of me hangs where my television once rested - on quieter days when I just want to sit in here and reflect, I stare at it as I did the TV when I was in my college age. The adjacent laundry room was once an office, the former storage room is now the office, the former laundry room is now a closet, storage is now outside.

One could say we've done some fine things with this house. But it took the worst natural disaster on U.S. soil to make it all possible. As I walk through each room, I'm reminded that, yes, God is in the hard things. And while August 27, 2005 signaled the first mandatory evacuation in New Orleans' history, August 27, 2009 is a gorgeous (if not slightly hot) day. No hurricane has threatened the Gulf region. Grocery stores are fully stocked. Gas prices won't spike this weekend. Anyone leaving town for the weekend can feel safe in knowing that three days' worth of stuff will be adequate. Anyone arriving to town can expect their visit/return to go off without a hitch.

I've grown in the four years since that mandatory evacuation was called. By then, I was already gone; I left with some cousins when the evacuation was still voluntary. We went east, missing most of the traffic, though I still chuckle when I realize that I went to Florida to avoid a hurricane. Our stay in Florida - three days in Panama City, one in Pensacola - was one that went from fun and leisurely (we'd planned to hit the Foley outlets on the way back) to absolutely disasterous. Extra money set aside for joy turned into our source of staying afloat. A three-day stay outside of Jackson gave me time to come to grips with the reality of what had happened. I spoke little; words would not help speed up the moving on that I needed to undergo.

Atlanta (technically, Ellenwood) and Chicago became home 2.1 and 3.0, respectively. As I'd spent time in Atlanta, and knew their interstate system really well, I took on the burden of making sure my family knew fully how to get around. Trips on 285 were particularly fun; Ellenwood is east of Atlanta proper, so hearing that a relative was lost "in some place called Doraville" or "Cascade Road, which I figured was close to Candler Road" meant I'd gas up the baby blue zoomer (my nickname for the 1997 Ford Contour I inherited) and go rescue them. Seeing my friends from my Morehouse days certainly added light to an otherwise dreary period.

Chicago was a different animal altogether. I moved there with good intentions: The woman I was seeing was in graduate school, and my plan was to head there to help her out, be a familiar face, and then get myself back into school. Well, two of those happened. For reasons I won't explore here, it wound up not working out, and home I returned, where I remain. I did, however, make the most of my Chicago experience: I taught myself how to navigate the streets, how to differentiate between the various directional street names, and even how to get as far north as Green Bay, Wis. Exploring the suburbs was often more rewarding than any "real" trip could have been. And yet, all that knowledge came to be for naught. Within a year of really getting it down pat, I was back in the place I knew best: New Orleans.

I've gained wisdom and knowledge in these four years. Had I immediately returned, I don't know if I'd have gotten those things. I've seen the bottom, and I've been close enough to get its ooze on me if so much as the hairs on my arms raised. And through it all, though I've probably aged ten years in the last four, I remain thankful. Thankful for the day, thankful for home, thankful for family, thankful for you, thankful for the opportunity to share this with you.