A. W. Tozer has helped me see that Nashville was already a “national disaster” before the floods hit us last weekend. There was already an emergency situation, and one worse than the flood! I think I have sensed this fact my whole life—growing up next door to a drug dealer can tend to put it in perspective—but I finally want to do something about it. More than just praying…which I don’t really do anyway.
Just like when I went to the Gulf after Hurricane Katrina to help rip out flooded interiors and distribute food: beneath the labor, which put my sympathy and subsequent agitation to redeeming use, I was interceding for souls and seeing the hardness in their eyes soften as we helped with no strings attached.
Except now, it’s my own town. I am living daily and working, even going to coffee with friends, just as if nothing has changed. But I think that deep down, I knew that spiritually, it was already worse than this. And remains thus.
I have felt broken over the city since I saw the real state of affairs in the newspaper. Last night I drove home by way of James Robertson Parkway, which passes at the head of Rosa Parks Blvd. I looked down the road where normally I could turn left to visit the Farmer’s Market, and saw only water. Water for miles. Lights blinked on and off to alert passersby of its existence. A strange, sewer-like reek rose from the street’s pond like a heavy mist, choking out all life around it. That’s the closest I’ve gotten to a real flood in my whole life…
This means that 1st and 2nd Ave., the Farmer’s Market, Opry Mills Mall, The Opryland Hotel, The Grand Ole Opry, my Shelby biking trails, entire neighborhoods…are destroyed. Millions of dollars worth of merchandise has been obliterated. The movie theaters are ruined. The fish at the aquarium restraint are killed (except for the two missing piranhas…). I wonder if the General Jackson floated glibly away?
At least there has been little death. As of yesterday morning, the death toll was at 17 and the missing toll at 1. I saw a picture of two teenagers in a roaring, brown rapid; when I read the caption, I realized they were clinging for dear life to the top of their Jeep! The waters swelled around them as waves breaking on a rock. That means the waters, at Station Camp in Gallatin, in the middle of the road, were at least 10 feet deep. The two were smart and released a backpack to determine the flow of the current, and rather than drown, followed their backpack to safety on the shore. If flood waters rushing down residential streets have shores. The girl in the interview kept asking, “Why did we survive when others didn’t?”
Tozer says, “Men are caught in a disaster worse than earthquake or flood, and the redeemed of the Lord are to work for their rescue.” (That Incredible Christian, p. 106) Exactly! As I go, perhaps to help drag away debris on Saturday, I can know that what I am doing physically is what I do spiritually every day—or at least, could be doing and wouldn’t-it-be-nice-if-I-was doing.
I actually burn to help in some physical manner, yet am afraid lest I get in over my head or something. Mingling of burning passion and fear here. Sigh. I need someone to go out there with me! I don’t want to go alone. I will…but I don’t want to. I can't just live my normal life and sit by doing nothing! I just can't! It's not right. I need to be doing something. Lord, guide me to where You would have me be on Saturday! Open my eyes to see where is best. And bring me someone to push me, please, I need that. Amen.
