There’s an old song that goes like this, “When the storms of life are raging, stand by me.” The words refer to the emotional, spiritual storms that we all encounter but could also be applied to the violent weather around the globe. In particular this morning, I’m thinking about the people in the path of Hurricane Irma.
Several months ago, I re-printed the story I wrote about the storm that leveled the Oklahoma town of Peggs during the early part of the last century. In Oklahoma and Arkansas, we don’t experience hurricanes but we have our share of tornadoes. We’ve been blessed these past couple of years in not experiencing such ruinous storms.
My family and I were privileged to make a trip to the Gulf once. I admired the beautiful old homes, particularly Beauvoir, Jeff Davis’ post-war home in Biloxi, Mississippi. Hurricane Katrina destroyed much of it but it has been re-built. Today, people have warnings that these deadly storms are approaching but in the 1800s, communication was a whole lot different. So, with my penchant for spinning tales, I started wondering…how did those people of 160 years ago know when a hurricane was headed toward them? Some of their houses, as was Beauvoir, were built frighteningly close to the water. Did they notice a change in temperature? Did seagulls head for shore? Did the horses and cows act nervous? How about the dogs and cats? Sometimes animals sense coming danger. Then, I wondered what they did when the unrelenting wind began to batter the houses? And where did they go when the storm surge brought the sea through the front doors? How did the people react to these terrifying situations?
In Barbara Burgess’ and my first book, The Cemetery Club, it wasn’t a hurricane but a tornado with accompanying wind, lightning, and rain that threatened Darcy and Flora. They were not near a cellar nor even their own home. They were at Goshen Cemetery and the only place they had for shelter was the small stone chapel. Here is an excerpt:
A strange silence descended on the graveyard. I raised my head to see what was happening. The dark clouds were moving and churning above us and a small eddy of whirling air pointed downward, like an accusing finger…A low roar began over our heads then the wind and rain came again with renewed force. The storm tore at us, battling to whirl us into the seething heavens…We struggled toward a small, sandstone building at the edge of Goshen Cemetery. Rain blinded us. Tree branches flew past. At last, we stumbled inside the little house…Wind pounded the chapel and did its best to come in the door or through the roof. Lightning flashes showed row after row of wood benches, thankfully, empty benches, an old, upright piano in a shadowy corner, and a small table with a lectern on top.
That storm marked the beginning of another turbulent time in the lives of Darcy and Flora.
May the Lord be your Shelter in the time of storms.
Speak Your Mind