When the Worse Brings Us Closer
By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar
Life has a way of swaying like a second line parade through the streets of New Orleans sometimes vibrant and full of joy, and other times weighed down by the blues. The rhythm changes, the tempo slows, and you’re left wondering if you’ll ever find your beat again. When life goes from bad to worse, it can feel like a brass band playing a somber dirge, heavy with loss and uncertainty. But here’s the thing about New Orleans after every dirge comes the celebration, the triumphant return to hope and joy. And isn’t that just like the Creator?
There are moments when it feels like the storm is relentless. The rain pours down, the levees of your spirit feel like they’re breaking, and the waves of life leave you drenched in doubt. In times like these, it’s easy to feel abandoned, like the Creator has walked away. But let me tell you, cher, you’ve got it wrong we’ve got it wrong.
Our Creator doesn’t walk away when the parade turns messy. No, the Creator marches with us through the potholes and puddles, through the chaos and confusion. It’s in the silence, in the stillness between the beats, that the Creator does the most profound work.
When the waves are choppy, we’re quick to get frustrated. We stomp our feet like we’re caught in a second line that won’t move. We get emotional, anxious, and angry. Bitterness sneaks in, like an unwelcome guest at a crawfish boil, and suddenly we’re convinced the Creator has left the building. But can I tell you something? The Creator is still there, always has been, always will be.
There’s a beauty in the storms of life, even when they feel like they’re tearing us apart. Think of the mighty Mississippi it overflows, it floods, but every time, it leaves behind fertile ground for new growth. That’s what happens when life seems to go from bad to worse. The Creator is clearing out what no longer serves us, making room for something richer, deeper, more vibrant.
Down here in New Orleans, we know something about resilience. Hurricanes may batter our shores, but they can’t touch the soul of this city. The same goes for you. The storms in your life aren’t there to destroy you; they’re there to reveal your strength, to grow you, to wash away the old and make way for the new.
Let me share a little acronym with you, one that feels just right for the Crescent City: J.A.Z.Z. Just Allow Zeal to Zone in. When life gets hard, and you’re tempted to throw in the towel, remember to lean into your zeal, your faith, your Creator. Like a jazz musician improvising a solo, you’ve got to trust the flow, even when the notes feel off.
And here’s another one to carry in your heart: S.T.O.R.M. Stand Tall Over Real Moments. When the winds howl and the rain doesn’t let up, plant your feet, lift your head, and trust that the Creator’s got you.
When I was at my lowest, feeling like the music had stopped and the lights had gone out, I thought I was alone. But just like a second line that starts with just one drum, I began to feel the rhythm of grace tapping on my heart. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flashy. But it was there, steady and true, reminding me that the Creator was right there in the midst of it all.
You ever been to a gumbo cookout? You throw a little bit of everything in that pot okra, shrimp, sausage, spices. Sometimes it looks messy, but when it all comes together, it’s magic. That’s how the Creator works. The struggles, the heartbreaks, the setbacks they’re the ingredients. It might look chaotic now, but when it’s all said and done, you’ll see the masterpiece.
My grandmother used to say, “Baby, don’t you fret when the gumbo boils over. That just means it’s getting good.” And isn’t that the truth? When life feels like it’s boiling over, it’s not the end it’s the start of something delicious, something nourishing.
Let me leave you with this: life’s storms are like a brass band improvising their way through a downpour. You might get soaked, you might lose your footing, but the music never stops. The Creator’s rhythm is always there, guiding you, growing you, shaping you.
So when life gets tough, when it feels like the lights of Bourbon Street have dimmed and the carnival is over, remember this: the Creator hasn’t left. The silence isn’t absence it’s trust. The breaking isn’t destruction it’s transformation.
And just like New Orleans after a storm, you’ll rise again stronger, wiser, and ready to dance to the music of grace.
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