My family and I live at least ten miles inland. We live near woods and fields of cattle and row crops. Some of those living inland have said that we on the coast get what we deserve when we get a hurricane. They say that only the wealthy have their second homes on the coast and that it is okay to let them blow away. I haven’t always found that to the be the case. Storms (hurricanes, ice storms, tornadoes) occur all over the country. Our neighbors use their homes as their primary (almost exclusively ONLY) residence. Our neighbors are firemen, teachers, WWII vets, farmers, and landscapers. They are hardworking, caring, good people. Hardly would we consider our homes expendable. Living in a hurricane area is just a part of life for us.
Over the years you accumulate things. One year you buy a generator. Another year you buy some plywood to cover the windows. Another year you actually cut them to fit the doors and windows. You keep your stash of flashlights, lanterns, and batteries handy.
With each storm you accumulate stories. You remember the places you rode out the storm, the times you evacuated, the times you WISHED you had evacuated and that times you wished you had stayed put. You remember the storms by how old the children were or when Grandma came over to ride it out with you. These events become a part of our family history.
Hurricanes are often large and unpredictable. Forecasting their landfall and intensity is difficult. When one enters the Gulf of Mexico, those of us living on the hundreds of miles of coastline must be prepared. Even small changes can mean a big difference. Isaac had rain bands some 350 miles across. We were on the outside edge of those bands. If Isaac moved 25 miles to the east, it would mean that several more inches of rain fell upon our homes and land, not Mobile Bay. So an adjustment of less than 10% can mean the difference between a drizzly, breezy day and downed trees, power lines, and significant flooding.
Therefore, we prepare. For Isaac we were expecting a storm with winds of at least 115mph. A week ago, the forecast was for it to go far to the east of us. That would put us on the “good” side. When you’re on the west side of the storm, the rains and winds are much quieter. As the week progressed, the forecast track moved west. For a day or so, the forecast track put the eye of the storm passing over our home. But the forecast track kept moving west. That puts us on the “bad” side. When you’re on the east side the rain, winds, and possibility for tornadoes all greatly increase.
At the church, we put our plan into action. We secured the facility. We called our “sensitive” populations. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered evacuations. Schools closed for three days. People move into a strange state of motion. The stores are quickly emptied of bread, water, canned meat, peanut butter, paper products, batteries, and snack foods. (As a side note, our family always buys ice cream at this point. That way if the power goes out, we have to eat the whole carton immediately, lest it should melt.)
The news people tell you to fill your car with gas. On your way to fill up you see several boats on trailers headed inland. You may find stations out of gas. When you find gas, you may wait in line behind someone filling up several cans. Maybe it is for their generator or maybe it is for peace of mind.
Our family seeks to move with calm through the process. We clear the yard and porch of lightweight items. We help our neighbors and friends. We get the animals settled. As we work, a foreshadowing breeze creates a whisper through the surrounding pine trees, and we take one more look around before we head into the house. Later we will poke our heads out between bands of rain coming on shore, when the wind the will howl through those same pines.
Despite all the ills of the storms, I love the family time the storm creates for us. It is almost as if we are being pressed inward, from all sides, to be together. We do those projects we’ve been meaning to get ‘round to for a while: we clean out a closet or two, I get that old reel cleaned and reassembled, we play games together, we watch classic movies, we go splash in the puddles. The space of family time is our calm in the storm.
We don’t really turn on the television very much. The repetition and the hype seem to steal something from our solace. This solace remains constant in the time between the bands when the winds and rain is calm or when the rain blows horizontally through those pine boughs.
Kevin Stokes and Tony Wood wrote a song that reminds us that sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He calms His children. No matter where we are, storms will rage around us. I pray for one or the other for my neighbors and for all those affected. Sometimes, late at night when I hear the winds blow from inside may warm and dry home, I close my eyes and I see the children I met in Haiti. I see the tent and tarps they lived in and hear the winds blow around me. This is the same storm they saw but a few days before I did. Did they pray that God would calm them or calm the storm?
When the storm is over, like turtles poking our heads out of our shells, we take a look around. We check on one another. We see how we can help. Storms are a part of life. Jesus reminded us that troubles will come. However, he never leaves us nor forsakes us before, during, or after those storms. He calls us to be the arms of compassion to those affected: firemen and farmers on the Gulf Coast, or orphans in Haiti. When we are affected by the same storm, it seems like the differences between us fade away a little more. He calls us to remind them all of His promise, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
