Twenty-years ago today, in the early hours of September 16, 2004, Hurricane Ivan furiously made landfall on the north central Gulf Coast. Ivan the Terrible, a slow-moving high Category 3 storm with relentless winds, flooding rains and surging waters, forever changed the landscape of the area and became a divide in the timeline of local history: life before Ivan and life after Ivan.
Thankfully, I'd decided to ride out the storm with my family in a neighboring county; if I hadn't, I'm not sure I'd be writing this blog. I'd have likely died of a heart attack from fear; as it was, I came pretty close to having one when I was hunkered down in the hallway of my parents' house.
All night we huddled in the dark around a battery-powered radio listening to non-stop storm coverage. Tornado warning after tornado warning. Relentless, screaming winds. The rafters groaning. The interior walls breathing. Things slamming against the house. Things snapping. Things popping. At some point, my sister and I started playing a silly guessing game of "what-just-went?"
About 8:00 AM, we removed the boards covering the front door. My four-year-old niece, who'd slept through the storm (thanks to Benadryl!), looked, blinked, rubbed her eyes and said, "Whoa! What happened!"
The radio broadcasted grim news: there was tragic loss of life and catastrophic destruction.
Twenty-four hours passed before the roads were clear enough for my parent's to drive me the 14-miles home. With sections of the interstate bridge lying at the bottom of Escambia Bay and the causeway bridge washed out, the only way to get home was to take the backroads. Traffic was heavy. It took us two hours to get to the four-lane highway where traffic was literally bumper-to-bumper and inching toward Pensacola. We'd been on the highway for about 15 minutes when the persistent blaring of air-horns disrupted the orderly movement south. We moved off the road as a convoy of semi-trucks nearly-plowed their way through. As the first truck went by, my stomach lurched. Written on the side of the truck in bold letters was: Emergency Command Post, Corp of Engineers, Federal Emergency Management Agency. Ivan was "the big one" and we had taken a direct hit.
And so began life "after" Ivan on the panhandle of Florida.
I was overwhelmed. While my home had not suffered significant damage, I still had two trees on the roof, a wet bedroom ceiling and soggy carpet. I had no idea where to begin or what to do. And I had no help. Or so I thought...
Early Saturday morning, two days post-hurricane, I awoke to men with chainsaws in my backyard. The men in my small neighborhood had teamed up and prioritized chainsaw needs. When my trees had been cut into moveable-sized logs, they all moved to the next house on the list. A friend's husband climbed on my roof and tacked down roofing felt. I helped neighbors haul big limbs to the curb and they helped me. As the freezers began to thaw, neighbors fired up grills and shared their bounty. When darkness fell, neighbors gathered on porches to talk before retreating into power-less homes for the night. I went to bed each night exhausted, but feeling less overwhelmed and grateful. While there was a lot of work to do, I wasn't alone.
I went to church on Sunday, three days after Ivan. While the church was without electricity, it was filled with Holy Spirit power - and it was packed. Pastor preached from Psalm 46, on "Overcoming the Storm." He told about how the first settlement in Pensacola, founded by Tristan de Luna, had been destroyed by a hurricane. He shared about other hurricanes that had made landfall over the centuries. Each time, the people united and rebuilt. Most important: no matter how great the storm, how extensive the devastation, our God is steadfast and faithful. I shed tears of gratefulness. I was part of a community united in pain and united in hope. I wasn't alone.
At the end of the service, Pastor announced that the Texas and Oklahoma Baptist Disaster Relief teams had arrived and were setting food trucks up in the back parking lot. They were serving hot meals for anyone who was hungry. After I ate, since there was nothing else I could do at my house, a friend and I volunteered to help serve meals. In one of the lull times in the parking lot, I chatted with several volunteers. A retired builder from Oklahoma asked me about the damage to my house. When I told him about the wet ceiling and soggy carpet, he instructed me to go home immediately and what to do, but he never told me why. Puzzled, my friend and I hurried to my house and followed his instructions. When we pulled up the carpet, black mold was growing on the concrete, baseboards and carpet tack strips. More tears of gratefulness. The Lord had provided someone to tell me the next-right-thing to do. I wasn't walking this journey alone.
Over the next few months, the Lord put people in my path to direct me in what I needed to do precisely at the moment I needed to do it. He provided help in unexpected ways from unexpected sources. He met needs I didn't even realize I had. He showed me I was never alone.
The rebuilding process was slow and often hard, but eventually, life returned to normal. A new normal forever defined by a storm that divided time.
God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change
And though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea;
~ Psalm 46:1-2
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