“Good morning everyone." Began
the TV announcer. "Let me correct that. There is nothing "good" about this
morning of September 26, 2004."
He was right. We encountered, once again, an unwelcome visit from another member
of the destructive and malicious gang: Charley, Frances, Ivan and Jeanne. They
engaged in a vicious game of outdoing each other in merciless destruction.
At first, the action outside was not much different than the usual storms in
Florida. But we knew this was no ordinary storm. It was a preamble of a
destructive hurricane named Charley.
“Let’s go in the laundry room,” my husband suggested with apparent composure.
“It’s the safest place in the house.” My parents, my son, his girlfriend and I
headed in that direction.
“Everyone grab a pillow and a blanket,” I said. I made a mental note of the
supplies we would need: a flashlight, water and our cell phones. Grabbing the
small transistor radio with fresh batteries, a bit of reassurance trickled in.
Bodies tense, we huddled in our confined shelter.
As expected, the lights went out. The TV was silenced. In the dark, the rage of
the hurricane became more audible. The wind howled and whistled as if to
announce, “I’ve arrived.” Its ominous nature intensified our vulnerability.
Charley had a vicious and unique personality. It was capricious. First giving
the impression it was headed in one direction and at the last minute changing
directions, it had its own raging madness as it ripped through neighborhoods
mercilessly.
“Shhh…!” I ordered. I turned the volume up of the radio I held on my lap,
“Listen!” I added with urgency.
Our family huddled attempting to tune out the loud roaring outside. We hung on
each word coming from the only device connecting us to the outside world. “It’s
headed for Orlando; the winds here are unbelievable. With the last moments of
daylight, we can see the roaring winds snapping trees in half like pretzel
sticks. In other areas, it’s been reported that trees have been yanked with
force, their roots entangled in blocks of cement tossed aside like toys.” Some
static interrupted his description. Then he continued, gasping between words,
“The huge glass windows of buildings nearby move in and out in a swaying motion
attempting to resist the fierce wind, but with no success.”
More reports followed: “Now the road is in total darkness. Traffic lights are
gone, with those remaining not working,” announced another brave reporter
standing outside to give us the detailed recount of Charley's fury.
Without air-conditioning, our cozy area turned into a small oven. But safety
tossed out comfort as Charley’s rage grew closer. The strong winds thrust
sporadic bangs, rattling our garage door. The hurling debris against our front
and back doors as well as those slamming against the large windows gave the same
sensation of the tic…tic…tic of a bomb. We knew it would strike, but didn’t know
exactly when, nor did we know which window would burst or what part of the roof
would yank away first.
“What is that scraping?” I asked with curiosity.
“It’s my yogurt cup,” my mom said in her characteristic calmness. “It’s my
bedtime snack,” she added with a matter-of-fact tone.
“How can she eat at a time like this?” I thought.
But then I remembered her words: “My hope is in the Lord. He will protect us. Do
you think this hurricane is catching Him by surprise? He is always faithful.”
Charley’s furious winds struck with more intensity in some areas, yanking off
roofs like box tops. The roaring winds hurled traffic lights, smashing them to
the ground. Some fatalities were reported.
“The tracking shows Charley is now in Orlando’s downtown area,” the radio
reporter announced.
We all went silent to make sure we heard the good news correctly and then it was
confirmed. Charley had moved north; it finally passed us. And although fatigued
with anxiety, we breathed a sigh of relief.
Each member of the family gasped nervously as they glanced at the destruction
barely visible through the shadows of the night. But in contrast, a deep yawn
slipped from my mom’s lips and she tossed her empty yogurt cup in the
wastebasket. “There was no need to worry then; no need to worry now. God is in
control. Good night everyone,” she announced with tenderness in her voice.
Her profound trust and hope impacted my heart and stirred a personal hurricane
of awareness within me. I’d heard these words countless times, but perhaps never
before understood their significance: "We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our
help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name."
(Psalm 33:20-21)
My mom’s hope and trust in the Lord was contagious. I embraced it and during
storms in my life, it became my generator providing the energy to keep moving
forward.
When storms rattle the doors of our heart, His grace is still at work, His truth
still prevails and His hand is active. And even when those emotional hurricanes
file through, God’s protection silences the winds of fear.
“Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the
mountains be carried into the midst of the sea…” (Psalm 46:2)
Fear may divert faith, but faith always devours fear.
Janet Eckles jeckles@cfl.rr.com http://www.janetperezeckles.com/
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