Tip of My Iceberg

Hurricane season begins June 1. We rarely get many of these storms the first two months of the season. Except, of course, the day my daughter got married. June 1, an outdoor wedding, and it had to be moved indoors because of the coming hurricane.

Most of our really big ones here in Florida don’t happen until August. The conditions for these tempests all fall into the category of the perfect storm. (Pun intended). Our first hurricane of concern came in the first part of August. Isaias. Many have been fascinated by the name–it’s a derivative of Isaiah, the Hebrew name for YAHWEH, or God, is salvation.

An intriguing name for a catastrophic storm.

Since this is our norm, when these squalls begin to form in the Atlantic Ocean, we’re made aware of what to expect. People prepare, many by purchasing water, nonperishable food, and filling the gas tanks of cars. On the east coast of the state, they board up windows, bring in anything that could blow away, and make sure flashlights and batteries are available in case power is lost.

We brought in all the toys scattered on the porch, placed plants in more secure locations toward the wall, and brought in anything that could be used as a flying weapon. Years ago, we had a trampoline that actually was picked up by the wind and hurtled into our neighbors’ yard. Thankfully, nothing was damaged, but we learned a lesson.

Then we waited.

It missed us.

The Weather Channel, as well as most local channels, love to speak in hyperbole. The awfulness of what could be, the challenge of what we don’t yet know, prepare for the worst. Often, this goes on for days causing worries to happen before the fact.

I understand the need to be prepared. Sometimes, doom and gloom don’t communicate what needs to be understood.

I often am preparing for things I see and understand. The unknown and unexpected too frequently leave me unaware and vulnerable.

COVID is a great example. Nobody anticipated how this would affect our lives five months ago. On the last day of work, I walked out believing I’d be back after Easter.

Now I’m adjusting each day as more of the unknown enters my world.

But God.

It’s easier to deal with what I know and can grasp than what doesn’t make sense. The things I don’t agree with can leave me confused or even angry.

God in all His greatness has that effect on people. It’s hard to grasp Someone I can’t see yet is all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present, and full of grace.

It’s easier to dismiss Him, marginalize Him.

Until someone is sick, or death hovers too close for comfort.

It’s natural to turn to God in moments of fear and pain, in times of loss and grief.

He embraces us, no matter what the storm is, no matter what we’ve done, no matter how hard it is to admit we need Him.

He’s available for us to cast our burdens on Him. To not go it alone. Ready and waiting for us to ask.

Maybe doing it before the storm hits would help.