Storm Tossed: A troubled woman finds peace with herself and God in the midst of life's storms. (8 page)

It. Was. So. Old.

Stupid, ridiculous, childish fights over things that didn’t really matter. Why couldn’t they simply get along? Why couldn’t they just love each other like normal, married couples?

She felt a large impact against the house, heard a loud snapping noise and more rushing of water.
What was that? God, what if it was rising to the second story?
She began praying in the Spirit again more fervently. Her Volkswagen Beetle had been picked up by the surge and the strong current, and slammed into one of the beach house’s steel stilts, crushing it like a sardine can on the driver and left passenger side. Would the house topple?

It was totaled, as almost all the cars were in the neighborhood. Those that weren’t crushed by the hurricane were at risk for mold and mildew and would be claimed a total loss by insurance companies. There was an estimated $49.7 billion in insured losses during Hurricane Katrina alone, she remembered from reading the reports prior to driving here.

All those people who lost everything--their homes, their cars, their furniture, their favorite things they’d saved over the years, their businesses, and the family they loved. How do you cope with the grief? How do you go on and move past such tragedy? How do you pick up the pieces of your life when you have nothing left? Only the grace of God,
she wondered.

The wind outside raged like a madwoman, and the lightning was so close to the house she thought it was going to hit it. She knew she was safer inside the house than outdoors, but every year people died from lightning strikes, sometimes just moments and steps away before getting to safety. She’d recently read between the years 2006 and 2013, 261 people were struck and killed by lightning in the U.S.

Between a choice of lightning and drowning, she’d choose lightning death, but right now she preferred living, at least a little longer. The thunder boomed, one right after the other, the sky lightning up glorious rainbow colors, and it was as if God Himself were in the house shouting.

What was He shouting to her?

I want to go home
, she prayed.
God, please get me home to my family. Nothing matters but you and them. Have mercy, Lord Jesus. Please don’t let me die. I forgive Jackson. I really forgive him, God, for everything—even the floozy. I forgive Autumn for how she has hurt me. Forgive me for not loving her the way she needed to be loved. I forgive Faith for hurting me, never hugging me back and never saying ‘I love you, mom.’ I forgive my parents for not loving me the way I needed them to. Oh and that snotty lady at church, God. What’s her name. I forgive her, too. Maybe she’s just really hurting inside—like me. God, please rescue me. I want to go home and really live a life of love. Please show me how. Teach me to love. Save me from the storm and save me from a loveless life. Because You are love, God. I want to be like You.

*******

Rachel woke up at 5:59 a.m. Somehow, by some miracle, she must have fallen asleep in the storm.
Like Jesus on the boat with his disciples
, she mused. He woke up, rebuked the storm, and asked His disciples where their faith was. Where was hers?

Her body was stiff and ached. Her neck had a bad crick in it. Despite the circumstances, she laughed at herself for the thought, remembering how her grandmother Taylor always said that. What a funny expression, but now she knew what it meant.

She’d fallen asleep on the hardwood floor, not in her usual, comfy beach house bed with its beautiful soft, white comforter and white goose down feather pillows. Everything in that room was white and pure. Lots of open space with a big bay window overlooking the beach. Decorated with a few large shells, sand dollars, dried out red and purple starfish, and turquoise, unique bottles filled with the soft, white Destin sand on bookshelves: shelves lined with wonderful books to read all summer.

Alone, reading, writing, laying on the beach, listening to its beckoning sounds. The waves, the sea gulls, the sound of children laughing, were like a heavenly orchestra to her spirit. That bedroom with its books, sea shells, and starfish, its blue glass bottles and white comforter, was a slice of heaven on earth and why she’d chosen that beach house. As for the ocean, it was her heart’s home. Always welcoming and promising, always a peaceful, renewing, healing balm to her soul.

She’d come here to write. That, and the fact that it was miles away from everyone and everything so she could think straight and because it was a “hurricane-proof” Topsider home. At least the storm surge hadn’t reached the second story and she hadn’t had to wield the axe, cutting through the roof to be rescued.

Not that she would have known how, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do that anyway. That thing was so heavy. She’d practiced a couple swings on some hardware store planks with Ben showing her how to do it. He’d laughed with her at her feeble attempts, but said she was doing pretty well for a “foreigner” there
. She was relieved she hadn’t had to use it for real.
So far, she thought,
shivering.
God, please hold back the water.

Now where was her hairbrush and makeup bag?
Oh
my gosh
, she thought,
habits die hard.
Here she is after a hurricane and she’s worried about her hair and putting on her face.
You’re so vain
, Carly Simon’s song lyrics ran through her mind.
Forgive me, God. Thank you that I’m alive. I praise You, God, because You are worthy of all worship and praise. Please let my neighbors be alive somehow, miraculously, God. Please help me, them, and others.

She didn’t worry about her wrinkled clothes or for once, putting on her black eyeliner, her trademark. She quickly pulled on her lemon-yellow gumboots and by habit, checked her phone.
How stupid
, she thought.
Of course there isn’t any service! The towers are down!
She turned on the weather radio and was dismayed to hear how many homes, businesses, and lives had been destroyed in Hurricane Ana and that Governor Susan Rudy had declared a state of emergency, with the Red Cross, FEMA agents, and the National Guard being called upon for assistance.

She closed her eyes, gulping, when news reporter Bob Bright (had he ever gone to sleep? Why was he still reporting?) said that one of the Destin graveyards had been hit and there were dead bodies, from the graveyard and the storm, floating in the street and to please stay inside to prevent the spread of disease.

Dead people. Disease.
Rachel shivered from cold and fear. The temperature had dropped a lot since the storm. She knew after disasters, it spread rapidly from dead bodies, sickness, lack of clean food and water, unclean hygiene, flies, mosquitoes, rodents, and other pests.

The house only had one bathroom and shower, and it was downstairs on the first floor, which was now flooded from the surge. She was afraid to go down there. What if one of those breaking sounds was the front door busting open and a dead body had floated in, like they were on the roads which were now muddy, salty rivers? She thought she’d lose her mind if she saw that.

She’d have to use the 5 gallon bucket in the room for a bathroom for now, until she was rescued. She knew from taking survival class last summer to keep it covered tight to prevent flies, mosquitoes, and other pests from getting in i
t. She’d
use trash bags for a cover.

She grimaced at the thought of living so primitively and was afraid of getting sick. What if I survived the storm only to die of disease afterward? She thought. Then she rebuked the thought.
God didn’t save you through that hellacious storm just for you to die of disease! Stop thinking so negative and fearful! It’s time for action now. You need to find out how everyone is and if--.
Rachel remembered her neighbors’ smiling, friendly faces and couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing them again, so she started hurrying.

She would move the gallon bucket “bathroom” to another room since she’d be sleeping and eating here for a while. She hoped it wouldn’t be more than a few days. She needed to get on the CB and call for help, then get the heck out of dodge and fly home. The landlord Mr. James would just have to get over the fact that she was breaking her lease early. Let him sue her. It was understandable in these extenuating circumstances that she couldn’t stay here.

All she wanted to do now was go home to her Jackson and her Faith—and yes, even her stepdaughter Autumn. The storm had opened her eyes to what a blessing she really was in her life. Another daughter. A gift from God.

She didn’t know what she would do for a shower since the shower was downstairs, other than judiciously using the alcohol wipes to stay somewhat clean. She guessed that not being able to wash and straight-iron her hair for several days, or even, God forbid, a week, was a small price to pay for still being alive.

Thank you, God
, she prayed again.
I don’t deserve to be alive, but You heard my prayers and answered me. You must still have a purpose and a plan for me. Thank you, Lord Jesus.

She took the 5 gallon bucket and the toilet paper into the second bedroom. She had been using the third bedroom as her office since she arrived here, when she wasn’t outside sipping her coffee and using her laptop. She loved having a portable business that she could take on the road wherever she went.

After she used the bucket, she covered it tightly with 2 thick trash bags and closed the door, praying that God would keep flies, mosquitoes, and other pests away from it. It disgusted her, but she had no choice right now.

She went into her bedroom and tried to use the CB to call for help. Like her phone, no access to anyone, but she heard a tiny bit of static which gave her hope that she could eventually get someone on the line to ask for help. She blew the whistle that she had bought with the hurricane prep supplies, feeling silly, but it was worth a shot to get rescued.

She wiped her hands with an alcohol wipe and slowly ate some unsalted cashew nuts and a fresh mango. The mango was sweet, juicy, just perfect. God was amazing how He created everything. She blessed the food and thanked God for it.

Usually for breakfast, Rachel had an easy-over egg, occasionally with bacon. Her mouth watered at the thought of bacon. You can never go wrong with bacon! Sometimes she enjoyed a blueberry bagel with cream cheese with her morning ritual coffee, but the toaster was downstairs and now submerged.
No toasted bagel for you,
she thought, grinning wryly, in spite of the circumstances.

She’d dearly miss her morning coffee and was thankful she had thought ahead of time to pick up some cold Starbucks frappucinos. Not the same as her hot coffee with a little creamer, and certainly sugar overload for her radically changed lifestyle, but hey, it was caffeine. After she ate, she wiped her hands, putting the wipe on top of her purse to stay as clean as possible. She’d reuse things as much as she could, not knowing when exactly she’d be rescued.

Rachel drank the cold coffee, sighing contentedly. Even in the midst of this chaos, here was some comfort. Somehow, coffee made the world all right again.

Rachel looked down the stairs. Naturally the power was still off. She didn’t know it, but thousands in Florida were without power now. Crews had been called from other states to help with the widespread power outages that would take 15 days to restore. She saw the big, soft, red chair with the huge pillows by the stairs. How strange it looked, floating around aimlessly like that, as if displaced from its purpose. Then she saw some books. Oh no, one of her favorites,
Pride and Prejudice
. Ruined.

She knew it was ridiculous to get so upset over a book, when people had certainly died, but she’d always cherished books. She viewed them as friends. She knew that it was silly and maybe even wrong to feel this way, when maybe even her neighbors—Rachel couldn’t finish the thought. It scared her too much.

Too close to home. Her neighbors were precious to her. She’d grown to really love them as close friends during her stay.
She couldn’t stand to think of them as gone. It upset her too much.

And if they were dead, who would help her? How was she going to get rescued without a cell phone, the CB, neighbors nearby?

Would a fireman or police man or some random person find her weeks later, dead in this beach house from starvation, dehydration, or some other cause?

Would some psycho weirdo break into the house now, raping or violently killing her? She would be at his mercy. The storm had frightened her so much, the enemy was tormenting her with new fears. Then she remembered,
God’s mercies are new each morning
.
But what if…?

One night she and Jackson had talked late into the night about all the looters and criminals who went crazy after Hurricane Katrina. They acted like animals. Fear and panic could bring out the worst behavior in people.

Why had she come here, knowing it was hurricane season? She had convinced herself that she was right, Jackson was wrong, and she needed to do this to figure out what to do with her life. Had it worked? Was this storm a Divine appointment for her, showing her how much her marriage—and her family—really mattered? To show her the contents of her heart—her stubbornness, her pride, her rudeness, her being all about self--her constantly putting up walls with Jackson to protect herself from hurt, keep him and others at arms’ length all the time?

She blew the whistle and tried the CB again, over and over, to no avail. How was she supposed to find out how her neighbors were? What was she supposed to do all day and night, while waiting to be rescued? She knew the CB batteries could probably only last about 30 hours on standby. The range was only a couple of miles. What if the battery power ran out before someone heard her cry for help? How could she let Jackson, Faith and Autumn know she had survived? Certainly they must be worried sick about her.

She dared to look out at the bedroom’s big bay window and the scene left her in shock. What had been her neighbors’ beautiful beach homes were no more. It was as if a bomb had exploded.

As far as her eyes could see, trees were either completely destroyed or left standing, stripped bare of leaves, looking like tall, gaunt skeletons haunting the land. Cars, mangled and crushed. A black and white Converse sneaker oddly on top of a burgundy-colored SUV’s smashed roof. Where was the other shoe?
Just like a shoe on the highway
, she mused.