The Hurricane Chronicles: Part 1

I sit here, hands on keyboard, at the ready…wondering how I can put into words what I’ve been through the last few weeks. Evacuation? What the hell is that? A reality, now. Shelling out money for hotels unnecessarily? A waste. But we didn’t have a choice. Where was my family? Who are my real friends? The ones that didn’t call, or check on me during a freaking hurricane? Did they even care that I may have no house left? Why did I move to a barrier island, anyway? And what’s up with these damn contractors that tell me they will be there and don’t show up? I don’t understand.

My mantra the last two and a half weeks has been “I don’t understand.” The developing realization in my fogged and traumatized  brain is that I don’t HAVE to understand, was never MEANT to understand, and that God is on the throne and I’m not. Saying this trite phrase is one thing, but living it out…entirely another.

It has shaken me to the core, this hurricane thing. It has uberly enhanced my relatively new marriage (under ten years), it has stolen my peace, it is almost stealing my fall delight due to struggling through tree-removal contractors that I’d rather slit my wrists than deal with, and it has stolen a large portion of my savings account. As I say this, the words seem trite and ill-conceived. I have friends who have lost jobs, homes, because of Hurricane Matthew. Yet I complain that my downed thirteen trees and the desecration of my yard has exhausted my endurance. I must have very little of that. Very little.

I have talked plaintively with my elder daughter, the one that is so on fire for God that literal smoke emanates from our conversations, and she has extended to me life and hope. “Put on praise music, Mom. I swear that’s what you need.”  I did, and it helped. To “let go and let God” is not just a cute phrase, it is often a difficult and decisive choice. A trusting that comes wrapped in catastrophe and ribboned with complaint. “Through it all,” as the song goes, “through it all, I’ve learned to trust in Jesus…I’ve learned to trust in God!” (Song credit: Andrae Crouch) I wish I was through with the learning. I wish I’d arrived at a place of trust, a place of peace, a blessed place of placidness that brooks no anxiety or pain or sorrow.

But I haven’t. Hurricane Matthew proved that. I absolutely haven’t, and I am mad about it.

I am mad at the contractor that lied to me about finishing the job of taking out my 80-foot pines that wouldn’t stand up to the wind. I am mad at the crappy hotels we had to stay in and their expensive rooms that lacked any amenities or decent service. I am mad that I have no family within twelve hours of where I live, and therefore not available to help. I am mad that no matter how much money we save, it dissolves in a matter of weeks for one reason or the other. I am mad at myself for my lack of faith when things do not turn out as I want them to. I am mad that even though my prayers that my house be spared were answered in full, I still complain about my ruined yard, and I should know better. I should be more patient, more long-suffering, more mature in my walk with God.

But I’m not.

And perhaps that is why I’m going through this bitter dance with Hurricane Matthew. Perhaps.

I don’t know yet, what I’m to learn, or what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future. It’s not me. It’s God, and I’m not Him.  I hope I can hang onto that truth for the rest of my life, because I sure don’t want to go through this again.

Ever.

But Your will be done, Lord.

Amen.