Eye of the Storm
Before spending even two weeks in our new home here in the most southern point of Mississippi, hurricane Ida came barreling toward the Gulf Coast. The blessing (if you can call any part of a hurricane a blessing), is that we had plenty of time to prepare. We sought advice from more seasoned residents and began acquiring everything we needed for our “hurricane kit.” I stood in long lines at Walmart just to buy gallons of drinking water. I waited in another line to fill up my gas tank. My husband spent an entire morning loading sandbags to place around every entry point of our brand-new home. I’d never watched more than five minutes of The Weather Channel until this week, but suddenly I became fixated with Doppler radar images of the ominous-looking cyclone about to cover this region I now call home.
It felt surreal. I’d seen news footage all my life of Gulf Coasters boarding up windows and evacuating their cities in anticipation of hurricanes each summer. Now I’m among them, standing shoulder to shoulder with neighbors as we discuss if we should stay or go, wondering how long we should wait before deciding to evacuate. Ultimately, we packed our bags, grabbed our valuables, and got out of town. A category four hurricane was not one we were willing to test out as our first “hunker down” experience. We figured it was better to err on the side of extreme caution than stay and hope it wouldn’t be that bad, not with our two young children to consider. Before vacating we walked through our house slowly and thoroughly. We moved everything away from the windows. We put our favorite items up on beds or high shelves. We retrieved all our important documents. I wondered what it would feel like to come back to the sight of water covering our floors. I wondered if I’d regret not taking anything else with us. I wondered how long it would take for our insurance company to give us the help we would need should the worst happen. Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself these were all just things, items that can be replaced. My happiness and my value doesn’t lie within the contents of my home. Everything important to me was sitting right there with me in the van as we put our town in the rearview mirror and headed away from Ida’s path. No, I would have no regrets, no matter the outcome. My heart was at peace. We prayed for protection over our home, of course, but even more, we thanked God we had the means to leave home in the first place. We know evacuation isn’t an easy option for everyone. There isn’t always money to pay for a hotel, a car to drive away in, or a family member to stay with. The choice to leave isn’t a choice at all for some.
Even though we returned to a dry, unscathed house, we don’t regret our decision. Even the one night of torrential downpour and the relentless wind was enough to rattle us. We couldn’t imagine sitting through it for two full days. As I laid in my daughter’s bed last night, covering her ears and singing over the howling wind, my thoughts went to those who stayed behind to ride out the storm in Louisiana, less than two hours west of us. My family and I made it through without so much as a broken branch in our yard. We were spared in every way. How many weren’t? How many of those who woke up to destruction are questioning God’s existence amid their loss? I know He is real because He protected me, but what if He hadn’t? Would I still praise Him? Would you?
During an interview with ABC News last night, Jerome Zeringue, a Louisiana state representative was asked what it sounded like as the hurricane came through his neighborhood while he sheltered in place with his wife. He simply said, “There are no atheists in the eyewall of a hurricane.” I imagine many had their own “Come to Jesus” moments when Ida made landfall. There’s certainly no feeling more helpless than watching a hurricane whipping across a city in its way. We serve a powerful God. “Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea -- the Lord on high is mighty,” says Psalm 93:4. We have no control over the wind and waves. We can’t even pretend to. How profoundly humbling. But why does He send the storms? Why does He choose to demonstrate His power with such spectacular catastrophes? What good can come from such natural disasters?
I still remember an episode of Mister Roger’s Neighborhood in which the question of “Why do bad things happen?” was addressed. Fred Rogers, in his gentle and kind manner, told us in hard situations, we should look for the people helping. I carried this with me into motherhood. Whenever my kids see something difficult on the news, I’m quick to help them find the helpers; the paramedics, the nurses, the police officers, the volunteers. I can tell you we witnessed a parade of tree trimmers and power line workers heading towards the storm, the only cars headed west as we joined the growing caravan of evacuees headed east. My husband spent an entire morning clearing leftover materials from the nearby construction sites on our street to protect our neighbors from potential flying debris in the storm. Our neighbors stayed in constant touch with each other throughout the storm, offering reassurance to those of us experiencing our first hurricane, and support to those who stayed to ride out the weather. Dozens of people checked in on us to ensure we were safe. We were upheld in prayer by countless friends and family. Now that Ida has moved on and lost her strength, we look to see who we can help in turn.
We met so many new neighbors because of the hurricane; how many of them need to know Jesus? Who can we bless by meeting their immediate needs with food, clean water, and supplies? Who can we comfort, rally around and pray for? The greatest acts of mercy and charity tend to happen after the worst has happened. That’s where God is in the storm. He is there when we wrap a blanket around someone who has spent their last few hours submerged up to their waste in storm surge. He is there when we extend a hand to pull a mother and her child to safety from a sinking car. He is there when we show up with brooms and towels to help restore the local restaurant to its former glory. He is there when we offer the clothes off our backs to the wayward soul who lost all they had in the floods. God doesn’t just show His might in the intensity of the storm; His love packs an awful big punch too. He is no less there for the family who lost everything than for my family who lost nothing. We each had important lessons to learn. I desperately needed a reminder never to take my home, life, and family for granted. I had become too comfortable. The threat of losing any one of those drew me back where I belonged, on my knees, leaning heavily on a trustworthy Savior. May those who lost even one treasure in the storm be reminded that they are not alone but seen and known. May they see goodness in humanity, even when they see the devastation on earth. May they see the unfailing love of Jesus Christ in each act of kindness, each rescue, and each provision. We are all fiercely loved by our Creator. The same Creator who designed the hurricane designed you and me. May there never be an atheist in the eye of the storm again.
”The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in Him.” -Nahum 1:7