The days leading up to summer’s end led us to focus on preparation. Now, a different type of preparation occupies many of our fellow-citizens: preparation for Hurricane Florence. And because we just moved to North Carolina, the advance of this storm isn’t an abstract headline.
Yes, we did it. To our own astonishment, after long considering the decision, we left our beloved Texas. We moved from a place where “t” stands for tornados, only to enter into the land of the hurricane.
When we opted for the arts-rich city of Winston-Salem over the attractive coastal town of Elizabeth City, I thought we were eliminating the possibility of a hurricane. So much for thinking we are in charge, right?
The biggest worry 300 miles inland from Florence’s landfall will be potential flooding in our new basement. And power outages. Compared to the worries those on the coast of the Carolinas have right now, these concerns are minor.
Still, I’m puzzled about this basement situation. I haven’t had a basement in my life since growing up in Virginia. I recall my mother’s despair at the water that trickled in. She fought it as hard as Don Quixote fought the windmills.
We may not have to battle an influx from Florence. Forecasters say it may be weakening. Also, we just got here, so we don’t know how a deluge of rain will drain. Still, some of our new neighbors have memories of the damage wreaked by Hurricane Hugo and are dispensing advice. Alas, sandbags are long gone by now, and we certainly didn’t bring any up from Texas.
Meanwhile, you may be at the edge of the storm, ready to be lashed by wind and rain. If so, you have more at stake than water lapping the sea of moving boxes that fill our basement. The world around you has become a churning, unpredictable place.
Last evening, I was telling my granddaughter about the oncoming storm, partly to explain why her pre-school was going to be closed. She was puzzled by my explanation of what a hurricane is and does. The inevitable “why’s” voiced by little children are charming to hear when the topic is the length of a giraffe’s neck. But when children first sample life’s disasters, providing answers is not easy.
It’s not easy for adults to answer these questions either. Maybe that’s one reason I’ve gravitated towards the study of history. Nothing like a dip into the Black Plague to put things into perspective.
Still, we are moderns, aren’t we? Everything is supposed to be under control . . . until it’s not. And, here’s a news flash: no amount of internet savvy or material wealth can fight against hurricane-force winds. The idea that we are in charge vanishes like a wisp of smoke.
The Earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof; the world and those who dwell therein. Psalm 24:1.
That’s the verse my granddaughter received as her memory passage this week. She has no idea how much of a challenge that verse can be to adults who are tossed against the waves of life. For all of you in the path of the storm, or at its perimeters, may you find safe haven.