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from Cossondra Most eyes have been directed toward Florida lately, following the landfall and aftermath of Hurricane Ian, a devastating Category 4 storm. The name "Ian" will assuredly be retired from the hurricane name list. That is something that the hurricane people have been doing for nearly 70 years when a storm is particularly destructive. That's why there won't be another Katrina or Andrew to strike the United States. After hurricanes earn a vicious personality, their names are relegated to stories and grim memories. Most people around here have hurricane stories about storms with retired names. When I was growing up, the stories were about Camille, a massive storm compared with Katrina in recent years. She was a nasty one, the most intense hurricane to hit the United States in 35 years. I remember seeing pictures of boats and empty slabs where houses should have been, wondering what it looked like when the water surged and swirled. Then, when I was in elementary school, there was Frederic, which hit Dauphin Island as a Category 4. It is the first male-named storm I remember because male names weren't added to the Atlantic hurricane list until that year, 1979. Yes, there were many jokes about hurricanes and "himacanes." We experienced several storms after Frederic whose names were retired -- Opal, Georges, Dennis, and even a wild one named Elena that traveled along the coast like a window shopper trying to decide where to go in. Predictions were she would hit the western side of the Florida peninsula, then the panhandle. As a result, she caused evacuations in three states before making landfall in Mississippi as a Category 3. When my son was in elementary school, we encountered Ivan. Ivan was headed toward us as a Category 5 but ended up hitting as a three. He was a bully that spawned tornadoes hundreds of miles inland. Here, about 75 miles from the coast, our power was out for thirteen days. Ivan traveled across the Southeast, jumped into the Atlantic and headed back our way. He ended up going into Louisiana and Texas as a tropical storm. What a jerk. Oddly, Camille, Frederic, and Ivan all made landfall here at night. While it's frightening when storms hit in the daylight, at least you can see a little of what is happening. In the night, with no power, the noises from outside may hint at what is going on, but the dark disguises it and leads the imagination down frightening paths. I slept a little the night Ivan came through -- early on. But in the night, I was awakened by what sounded like tornadoes. Everywhere. During thunderstorms, if a roaring approaches, it usually passes quickly. Not so with Ivan. All I could do at the time was walk the floor and pray. So I did. I can't say it erased the fear, but I was able to focus on believing God would protect us, and He did. When the sky began to lighten, the rain also started to slacken. Like so many others, my family emerged from our home to discover what Ivan had done. My first memory is the smell. So many trees had been broken that the air smelled of pine and fresh wood that first morning, a lovely, inconsistent companion to the sights the daylight revealed. Tornadoes had clipped pines and pushed over giant oaks with roots that stood taller than we did. Power poles and cellular towers had been toppled, as had several church steeples. Even this far inland, Ivan left his mark. The storm departed with the darkness and left confusion and disarray. But because there was light, we could see what needed to be done, and it could get done. In our community over the following days, neighbors cut trees out of the roads, covered roofs with the blue tarps, and delivered government-supplied ice and MREs. The sounds of generators and chainsaws filled the air outside. We could address the problems, but we required light to do it. Does that sound familiar? Have you ever spent time in a spiritually or emotionally dark place, unsure of what was happening and waiting for daybreak? I have. And sometimes no matter how much I prayed, I still didn't comprehend what was happening in the dark. Remember that Jesus is the Light of the World? Yes. Of course He is. And His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:23). But we know that some nights are longer than others, and some of our life experiences hit like hurricanes. They strike us and topple beliefs or people we believe in. They may knock down lines of power or communication. Persevere in your faith and prayers the next time you experience a dark and stormy night. It's ok to be afraid, unsure, even anxious. God gave us those reactions as signals to pay attention that things aren't right. And when daybreak comes, survey the damage. Take one thing at a time, letting God show you how to clear barriers and patch roofs. Let your community help you. Jesus is our light, and he can be our generator, giving us power when we have none. Sappy? Maybe. But the God who controls hurricanes loves you as His child.
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