|Looking out my front door at |
the neighbor's house across
the street yesterday...
|The same view as I write this|
on Sunday afternoon...
I felt so sorry for the people in Charleston and Columbia yesterday . . . the newscasts and videos made me gasp. And now the "firehose" of that vicious orange red and yellow hurricane rain band is blasting Myrtle Beach and 100 miles inland through the coastal plain where I live. I listen to the soft drumming of the unrelenting rain and look out the windows to see how much more of my green yard is reflecting rain clouds and pinging with raindrops.
My house is on a concrete slab. (Now we understand why we Yankees couldn't buy a home with a basement; a basement would have flooded long ago. They build everything down here on a slab or above a crawl space. Southern wisdom). I wish this house was up higher. Too late now. But the porch is still dry. The garage is still dry. After they fall, like territory in a war zone, we still have about 5 inches before the house floors are taken. That's a lot of rain, but if it continues through tomorrow night as forecasted we'll surely be flooded out.
Maybe it'll stop.
And so we wait. Do I pray? It's weird, but praying for the rain to stop before my own doorway seems self-centered and petty. But I do pray my widows--my readers--will be ok. Flooding would be a setback and huge inconvenience for Tom and I. But for my widows, and others who are also alone; for anyone not yet acquainted with loss or still healing from loss, it's extremely hard. Unthinkable; indeed, a nightmare.
The rain pounds faster and harder at the moment. So does my heart. It's like I'm looking over the edge of the high dive. If this really happens, if my house floods, it's a new chapter in the story of my life. Not one I would choose. I've had enough of tragedy, suspense, challenge and crisis. Where's my happily-ever-after?
I don't know if I'll ever have that picture-perfect life. But I do know this: Jesus Christ who once whispered, "Peace, be still," to a storm raging on the Sea of Galilee has said the same thing to me. While Joaquin spins its chaos in the Atlantic (Lord, please take care of Tanya in Bermuda), and flings the recycled ocean across South Carolina I hear Him even now down deep in my heart---Peace, be still.
He's with me in this storm. I've learned that's all I really need.
The convenience of computer technology will happily post this at it's pre-scheduled time of 8 a.m. EST tomorrow whether my house is flooded or not. Whether I have electricity or not. Whether I'm still here or making my way to a shelter. All I can say at this point is that I'll update whenever I can. And hopefully by then this will seem pathetically melodramatic because I'll not be flooded! But if I am, please know I'm resting in Christ, the all-powerful Creator of peace, and Sovereign Lord of all, and I'm praying for you.