The Storm

We had a storm. 

The wind blew fast.  The rain blew sideways.  Roofs blew off.  Trees blew down.  Windows blew in.  And hearts blew wide open.  They called it a hurricane, but it was more like a “here-God-came.”  I know He never left, but some days we see Him bigger and brighter, and those days have been this past week.  Just as when the prophet Elijah cowered in his mountainside cave, God’s presence showed up in my little town more in the small and simple than the large and powerful. 

God’s eyes were here the morning after as folks walked streets littered with limbs and downed lines of several kinds to check on those next door and those not so near.  God’s hands and feet were busy as neighbors who saw needs tapped on tarps, hauled off limbs, bagged leaves, chain-sawed trees, sat in long gas lines, and shared generators.  People emptied freezers and fridges and cooked meals for themselves and any they found who were hungry.  Restaurants hooked up generators and prepared meals for little or no cost.  Churches pooled resources and provided food and water, and just as our great Shepherd goes searching for the lost, many traveled paved streets and dirt roads knocking on door after door to find and feed the elderly who couldn’t get out and the immigrants who were too scared to ask for help.

Though during the first few days, all had no power, few had running water, and gas was a scarce and valuable commodity, a request by our police chief for someone to drive a family with a sick child to a town forty miles away was met with thirty responses in only a few minutes.  God’s smile grew even bigger as neighbors whose lives had been too busy to step beyond a casual wave and common greeting pulled up lawn chairs and had long conversations.  Families whose lives had been consumed by cell phones broke out board games and yard games. Kids (and adults) discovered outside again.  Lakes and pools became bathtubs; bathing suits became appropriate attire for any occasion, and a grilled hot dog tasted better than anything gourmet.

As power slowly began to return, the first blessed offered warm showers and washing machines to those still in the dark.  Ladies lined up late at night to retrieve the sweaty, smelly uniforms of non-local power linemen and have that laundry back in their hands before sunrise.  And the supplies began to arrive from afar—blessings of diapers, ice, Ravioli, and bananas—lots and lots of bananas!

It’s only been a week.  Life is not back to normal.  The homes of some have been destroyed.  The homes of most have been damaged.  Many still do not have power.  School hasn’t started back.  Lots of businesses are boarded up.  And the look of the town is different.  It’s beaten and battered, but it’s brighter. Some might say it’s because the lack of trees lets more light in, but I believe the glow comes from God’s love pouring through hearts willing to step in, step up, and share.

The storm was nasty, and none of us want to do it again, but neither do we want our bigger hearts and closer connections to diminish as the recovery increases.  God has been too real and too right here for us to live distant from Him or from each other anymore.

Light does glow brightest in the dark, and this week, Lake Placid has been ablaze.

May God hold and help and keep our hearts wholly His.