by Janet Perez Eckles

"Good morning everyone." said the TV news anchor. "Let me correct that, there is nothing good about this morning, September 26, 2004."

It seemed he was at least close to correct. We were to encounter another unwelcome visit from a destructive and malicious gang. There was Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne. Now we were told Charley was on the way.

At first, the action outside was not much different than the usual Florida storm, but it was clear what was going on outside was no ordinary storm. It was a preamble to Hurricane Charley.

"Let’s go in the laundry room," said my husband, with apparent composure. "It’s the safest place in the house." My parents, my son, his girlfriend, and I headed toward the laundry room.

"Everyone grab a pillow and a blanket," I said. I made a mental note of the other supplies we would need: flashlight, water, cell phones, radio and fresh batteries.

As the sound outside grew louder the lights went out, and with them the TV. In the dark it seemed the rage of the hurricane was suddenly more intense—and with it our sense of vulnerability.

Charley had a vicious and unique personality. He was capricious. First, giving the impression he was headed in one direction and at the last minute changing directions. He had his own raging madness as he ripped through neighborhoods mercilessly.

I turned the up volume of the transistor radio I held on my lap. "Listen!" I urged. We hung on each word coming from the only device connecting us to the outside world.

"It’s headed for Orlando, the winds here are unbelievable. With the last moments of daylight, we could see the roaring winds snapping trees in half like pretzel sticks. In other areas, the trees, their roots entangled in blocks of cement, were tossed aside like toys."

Static interrupted the description. Then more reports came: The road is in total darkness. Traffic lights are gone. Those remaining are not working.

Without air-conditioning, the laundry room turned into a small oven. But safety trumped comfort. Charley’s rage grew closer. The gale rattled the garage door. Debris was hurled against doors and windows. We sensed the tic…tic…tic of a time bomb. We didn’t know which window might burst open or what part of the roof would be yanked away.

"What is that scraping?" I asked.

"It’s my yogurt cup," said my mom. "It’s my bedtime snack.”

How can she eat at a time like this? I thought. But then I remembered what she had said earlier: "My hope is in the Lord. He will protect us. Do you think this hurricane is catching Him by surprise? He is always faithful."

"Satellite tracking shows Charley is now in Orlando’s downtown area," the reporter announced. We all went silent to make sure we heard the good news correctly, then it was confirmed: Charley had moved north; the worst was over for us. We breathed a sigh of relief.

As we moved to peer out the windows we gasped at the destruction barely visible through the shadows of the night. But a deep yawn slipped from my mom’s lips, and she tossed her empty yogurt cup in the wastebasket. "There was no need to worry,” she said. “God is in control. Good night everyone.”

Her profound trust and hope stirred a hurricane of awareness within me. I’d heard these words countless times, but perhaps never before understood their significance: "We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield. In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name" (Psalm 33:20-21, NIV).

That hope removed the plywood of gloom and sadness from the windows of my heart. It allowed the sunshine to come in once again. It uncovered the radiance of God’s promises bringing the rainbow of His everlasting love. When the swirl of my emotions attempts to drown the reassuring whisper of God’s Word, hope in Him becomes the anchor prompting my heart to be still.

 Janet Perez Eckles is a regular columnist for Connected and Lifeglow magazines.