Nothing left BUT GOD

[pld]

Nothing Left But God
Katrina destroyed life as I knew it. Now I'm discovering what it
really means to depend on Christ for everything.
By Gwen Williams

I believed the words of the old gospel hymn, "Long As I Got King
Jesus, I Don't Need Nobody Else." But as my brother James and I drove
through my deserted neighborhood in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans, I
longed for the presence of other human beings. I longed to see the
faces of the children playing in the park, or even the noise of
gangsta-rap music blaring from the street corner. The eerie silence
frightened me more than the drug dealers that used to hang out in the
neighborhood. Everything and everybody was gone. Not a creature was
stirring, except those that you viewed under a microscope. The aroma
of shrimp po'boys and red beans and rice had been replaced by the
stench of rot and decay. This area I had called home for nearly 30
years was now a desolate place with nothing left but God. Katrina had
flushed everything away but the Lord Himself.
This place of Nothing Left But God left me overwhelmed. My stubborn,
independent personality was not comfortable here, where I was alone by
fate rather than by choice. My trembling voice uttered no words of
praise or thankfulness. I, too, was silent. The "whys" and "how comes"
found their way to the Master's ears, but the silence remained. I
gasped as James parked my car in front of what I lovingly called my
"shacky shack."
There was dried mud on the sidewalks where dead plants formed a ring
around my house. On the front porch, police graffiti and my soggy
welcome mat greeted me. I took my last breath of almost-fresh air and
followed my brother inside. James tried to shield me from the
devastation.
My beautiful home was now a mess beyond repair. There must be
something salvageable, I thought before entering. But I was wrong. It
was as if a giant had picked up my house and shaken it like a
tambourine to Katrina's beat. I held on to my brother as we made our
way through the black muck. My Bibles, books, and tapes were strewn
across the floors in ruin.
All the material things I had held dear were gone. Still, I had to
believe that in all this mess was a miracle from God. If I didn't have
that hope, I would've surely gone crazy.

A muddy bouquet
The only piece of furniture standing in my little shacky shack was my
computer desk. The top shelf held a picture of my dad and several
angel figurines given to me by my kids. Through the flood of memories,
I sensed God reassuring my spirit that everything would be all right.
I grabbed my dad's picture and all the angels. I found a basket to put
them in. As I turned to walk away, I noticed the plastic box with all
my important papers untouched by the waters. Words of praise and
thanks flowed from my heart.
My brother said we needed to get out because of the toxic waste and
black mold we were breathing. I agreed. But as we reached the front
door, I noticed the table with my precious African American figurines
still intact. On that table was a bouquet of roses made of two-dollar
bills my mom gave me for my fiftieth birthday. I grabbed the figurines
and the now-blackened bouquet, then took a final look at my home. I
knew I'd never live there again.
Soon the men from disaster relief would come and pile 30 years of my
life on the sidewalk for the garbage trucks. My favorite chair, where
I spent hours studying God's Word and praying for my kids, was gone.
My personal journals, which held the emotions of my heart, were gone.
Everything was gone.
A clean slate
Touring my deserted neighborhood gave me a pain in my heart for the
many who never escaped or for those who would never come back. As we
turned down Franklin Avenue where my church stood, the parking lot,
which overflowed with cars on Sunday mornings, was eerily vacant.
There was nothing there but the same black mold that greeted us
everywhere. I saw the water line that circled my beautiful church
building and tears filled my eyes. It, too, was ruined. As we drove
past, I realized again we had nothing left but God.
Not only was my church gone, every church in the city was damaged or
destroyed by the floodwaters. Ironically, many of the bars and strip
joints in the French Quarter were open for business. There was no
place open to praise God, but plenty of places to drink and have a
good time. I imagined Satan's laughter. Was he thinking he'd won a
battle against God's children? Then God's Spirit assured me this
battle was just beginning.
In my heart I knew God was preaching a message to His people. Before
Katrina, New Orleans was a sick city. Sin, poverty, and corruption had
taken its toll on our neighborhoods, our schools, even our churches.
Now, in a sense, we had a clean slate. Perhaps God took all of us out
of the city in order to bring a few of us back to do His work. God
does not need mega-buildings to get His message out. He needs people
who will be obedient to His Word. He needs people who are willing to
give everything so that others may come to know Jesus.
I wanted to be counted among those people. Like Isaiah, my heart cried
out: "Here I am, Lord …" (Isa. 6:8).
I am among the remnant of believers who will return to New Orleans
with nothing but God. He took everything away so that I would have
nothing left to depend upon but Him.
Amid the upheaval, I made an amazing discovery: When there is nothing
left but God, He is enough. He is all you need to start over again.
What a foundation to build upon! God is all you need for every need.
Stay close to Him, and the material concerns will take care of
themselves.
Editor's Note: After Katrina, Gwen lived with family in Alexandria,
Louisiana, before returning to the Gulf Coast this year. She now lives
in Picayune, Mississippi, and does outreach ministry in New Orleans
through her church and several mission centers.
Gwen Williams, a.k.a. "Ms. Chocolate the Storyteller," is an author,
motivational speaker, and worship leader