I serve on the board of directors of The Gardere Initiative here in Baton Rouge.

If you’re not familiar with it, Gardere is one of those quiet places doing loud good—focused on children, families, and stability in a part of the city that has seen more than its share of struggle. The executive director, Dr. Murelle Harrison, is a retired Southern University professor and a tireless advocate for children’s welfare. I’ve known her for more than twenty years.

I met her during a personal low point in my life, after being introduced through a mutual friend, Jane Chandler, who has since transitioned. I started volunteering, and before I knew it, I was drawn into the orbit of this small, fierce woman who carries herself like the grandmother everybody listens to. She’s quiet, but don’t confuse that with soft. The kids adore her. The staff respects her. And when she calls, you answer.

Which brings me to my confession.

I’ve been extremely busy lately. As the old saying goes, I’ve been catching them faster than I can string them. Work, life, commitments—it all piles up. About a week ago, Dr. Harrison texted and asked me to call her.

That kind of message lands a certain way.

It’s like the principal calling your name over the intercom. You don’t ignore it. You just… might not get to it right that second.

An hour turned into a day.
A day turned into a week.

Every time I thought about calling, it was either too early or too late. And then enough time had passed that I started doing that thing we all do—where the delay becomes the problem.

Finally, today, I called.

She answered.

And I could hear her smile through the phone.

She said slowly, “Joel… are you okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said. “I’m good.”

There was a pause.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “Because I called you a week ago.”

Busted.

There’s no good explanation at that point. No excuse that sounds reasonable when you’re talking to someone who spends her days doing God’s work and asking very little of anyone in return.

So I did the only thing that made sense.
I apologized.

Sincerely. Plainly. Without explanation.

She accepted it, of course. That’s who she is.

Then I asked how I could be of service.

She said there were a few board documents she needed me to sign.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” I said.

And I will.

Sometimes the call you’ve been avoiding isn’t about trouble at all. Sometimes it’s a quiet reminder—to show up, to be present, to honor the people who keep showing up whether you’re watching or not.

I was grateful she called. And more grateful she cared enough to check.

At least, that’s how I remember it.

As Best As I Remember It.