by Beth Jones
It was her party and no one was attending. She needed to concentrate on interceding in prayer about everything. She’d heard bits of news from the weather radio before its battery died. One of the hospitals in town had flooded and the generator went down, too. Patients had been taken to the highest floors, some of them in critical condition.
People who had survived were floating on broken doors or whatever would stay atop the water to get to shelters.
An evacuation at the hospital wasn’t allowed because there were unruly crowds outside, looting nearby stores, stealing TV’s, tobacco, liquor, potato chips, sodas, cans of Spaghettio’s, clothes, coffee makers, ironing boards, over the counter medicines, DVDs, water bottles, fishing equipment, and cell phones. Doctors had called the Associated Press, pleading for rescue, because they were out of food and power and they feared violence from the looters outside.
Some looters were seen floating in boats and canoes with electronics and food piled high as possible, paddling quickly through the brackish water to dark, flooded homes showing evident signs already of mold.
A restaurant famous for its shrimp gumbo and country-fried steak, named You’ve got gumption, had been raided with people running out with Walmart plastic bags full of thawed shrimp and steaks. Looters carried arm fulls of various colored crocs shoes from the Crocs store and boxes of $1 jewelry from Claire’s from the Destin Commons strip mall.
The Bass Pro Shop had been hit hard and what wasn’t destroyed was being toted off by robbers, while police looked on indifferently, too worried about their own families to care. News reporters from around the state and U.S. were having a field day filming the looters stealing in broad daylight, screaming in delight at their finds. Rachel wondered how fishing tackle could be so important in a time like this.
The hurricane had spawned tornadoes all over the north-east coast. Thousands were without power in Florida, Georgia and Alabama from the hurricane and tornadoes. Officials estimated that it’d take a week or longer to restore power.
Many homes were total losses and people lost every bit of property they owned. How do you start over with nothing? Rachel wondered, her eyes tearing up again at her ruined items that she had brought with her. The loss caused an actual physical ache in her heart. How would she ever look her family in the face again if she did see them? They’d hate her! Would they even want her home again?
Bob Bright’s voice interrupted her thoughts. A Destin Comfort Inn hotel’s roof and the Destin mall’s roof was ripped off, with eight people seriously injured and a family with four children all dead. A baby had been snatched from her mother’s arms from the wind during the storm, and she had no idea where the body was. One elderly woman in Destin had died trying to rescue her yellow tabby cat Max instead of evacuating on time. Rachel prayed for her family, too. How ironic, she and the yellow tabby dying together.
There were 22 residents and staff of a nursing home killed from the surge, and 25 others being evacuated. An apartment complex in Destin had collapsed, killing dozens of people inside instantly.
One parish’s canopy of Lipstick Palm trees were all destroyed, and the beautiful, white, 1948 structure demolished. Residents showing ID would be allowed to try to retrieve any belongings that might have survived at the parish, and then sent away.
The city would not be habitable for three or four months, Mayor Rudy said in an interview by the well-known, beautiful Latino WHJG TV reporter Luciana Medina. Luciana played with her long, black hair as if getting ready for a date, smiling a big, orange- lipsticked, fake smile as she asked another pointed, almost rude question, hinting that Mayor Rudy might not be doing enough for the city, which obviously irritated her. The mayor cut the interview short, urging listeners to say prayers for the city as many had not made it when the surge hit and rebuilding was going to take a long time.
Ironically, a nearby pet shelter was in good shape and most of the dogs, cats, parrots, hamsters, white mice, and guinea pigs were okay, but hungry.
There was mass hysteria about possible sharks, gators, and snakes in the flood-watered streets in Destin, but the greater danger was the mosquitoes hatching, spreading disease.
The price of gas in nearby Georgia had shot up to $5.50 a gallon, with people panicking, remembering the lack of gas after Katrina. One man had been shot and killed at a gas station when another man pulled up, demanding to let him fill up his Ford truck first and the other man refused. In disasters, people often resort to animal-like behavior, driven by fear. Rachel understood the fear very well. She wasn’t sleeping fitfully at night, having nightmares of dying from not being rescued.
The Red Cross was using a football field stadium in Destin to treat patients. The local Destin airport had flooded, which made delivery of supplies extremely difficult. Supplies were being flown instead through the Pensacola Regional airport about an hour west of Destiny. Pensacola had also received some structural damage of homes and buildings, and 15 had died there. Other supplies were being quickly flown into the Northwest Florida Regional Airport at Fort Walton Beach to aid the people of Destin.
Texas, Tennessee, and Arkansas were accepting refugees from Florida needing shelter, with deep discounts at state parks. The biggest problem was being able to evacuate people safely with such limited access. The water was still 10 feet high on some roads.
Amidst the fear, confusion and panic, myriads of angels had been dispatched there. Some appeared in the form of homeless men and women, doctors, nurses, construction workers, FEMA officials, Red Cross workers, pastors, and military personnel, unrecognized for who they really were, but appreciated by the recipients of their good graces. They appeared out of nowhere, then quickly disappeared for a new assignment at the Lord’s instructions.
Stories were beginning to spread of miraculous rescues of people near death at the last second before the surge. Despite the darkness, God’s glory shone forth. He watched over His beloved children, His wings of love spread over them protectively, giving His flaming ministers commands to go forth to rescue, heal, encourage, and strengthen the saints.
Unseen to the human eye, in the second heaven, all around the earthly chaotic activity from the hurricane, angels’ huge, glittering silver swords clashed loudly with demons’ swords, warring over God’s people for protection.
In the bedroom, feeling all alone and trying not to be afraid, tears falling softly down her face, Rachel thought she felt a warmth on her shoulder.
She didn’t see the huge, beautiful, smiling angel in a royal blue robe with a gold sash, standing near her, who had touched her, watching Rachel with intrigue, for “in these things which now have been announced to you through those who preached the gospel to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven—things into which angels long to look.” (1 Peter 1:12)
The angel had been guarding her life in the hurricane and was instantly and joyously ready to do whatever God bid. As Rachel prayed for herself and others, thinking about her precious family, her stomach rumbling and feeling light-headed and feverish, she meditated on Psalm 143:7-8:
“Answer me quickly, Lord; my spirit fails. Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit. Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life.”
God, she prayed, I trust You. I love and worship You. You are good. I know this is a trial and a test of my faith. Please help me to pass it.
As her husband Jackson so often said, an untested faith in Jesus is no faith at all.
Chapter 9: Desperate
Rachel’s food had run out except for an almost rotten mango and a tiny taste of peanut butter a week ago. The bottles of water had run out two days ago, even though she tried her best to conserve the water. She knew humans couldn’t survive over three days without water, although they could go longer without food.
She’d eaten the last MRE and was tempted to drink some of the flood water downstairs, but no telling what was in it an
d it’d just make her sick—and make her thirstier from the salt or kill her. She’d heard horror stories of people without water drinking their urine, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Downstairs, mosquitoes swarmed like the National Guard and FEMA agents in town, and they and flies now were drawn upstairs, even with the door closed, to the bucket of excrement in the second bedroom, which was full by now. Rachel miserably spent a lot of her time swatting the mosquitoes on her face, arms, thighs, and stomach, futilely covering the bucket after using it.
She was crying out desperately for God’s grace through this frightening, aggravating test of faith and for someone to find her before it was too late. “You have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood,” she prayed from Hebrews 12:4. At some of the worst moments through this ordeal, Scriptures came alive from the Bible, back to her memory to strengthen and sustain her. The mosquitoes were terrible, but she was still miraculously here.
She prayed against getting a disease from them and prayed for any others trapped in houses and buildings from the hurricane to be found. She prayed for her neighbors, not knowing if they were dead or alive. She prayed for her family, knowing they must be frantic by now. It had been three weeks since the storm. Most of the people who were found by rescuers were dead, many of them being senior citizens and children.
Rachel thought of her family often, missing them and aching to see them. It felt like forever that she had hugged them. She thought a lot about her marriage with Jackson. Looking back over the 25 years of their marriage, God reminded her that despite everything, Jackson had faithfully stayed with her (other than the floozy). He had been a constant in her life, a calming and steadying presence, a rock for her to hold onto when her emotions were chaotic and turbulent. Jackson’s love anchored Rachel.
She winced, remembering all the times she had disrespected him and had been so selfish and rude to him. The memory of his sad, hurt face, discouraged by the sharp, harsh words she had uttered to him in haste, came flooding back, piercing her heart. I’m so sorry, God, she prayed. She wished she had been a better wife and had encouraged and loved Jackson more.
How self-absorbed she was, how demanding and prideful she could be. Alone in the house, having hours of time to do nothing but pray and think, Rachel realized how Jackson must really love her because he had stayed, no matter how bad things got in their marriage and life. If he had treated her the way she did him, she would have walked out a long time ago.
He always listened to her so patiently. She’d talk for hours about inane things, whatever random thought crossed her mind, and even when he was absolutely exhausted from working a 12-hour day constructing a new house, he’d lay there in bed and listen and speak encouraging words to her.
When she asked him to pray for her, he’d pray, laying his big, warm hands on her, sometimes almost too tired to stay awake, but he’d do it for his wife because he loved her. Every time he laid his hands on her to pray out loud for her, she felt those hands’ warmth, and she was comforted and strengthened. He had healing hands, healing words. Safe, yes, that was it, she thought. Jackson made her feel safe.
Yes, he drove her absolutely crazy with things he did and said, but as she thought about him now, tears welled up in her eyes and it was as if a sword were piercing her heart, remembering and looking into the mirror of truth.
Jackson is a very good man, she thought. A man after God’s own heart. Why am I so difficult and mean to him? Why don’t I love and respect him the way God wants and commands me to? Please forgive me, God, for my selfishness and unkindness. If I survive this, please help me to be a better wife and mom. Have mercy on me, Lord God. I’m so sorry for the horrible way I’ve acted. All I’ve ever done is think about me, me, me.
She realized too that while she loved Faith with all her heart, she’d made many mistakes with her and had been unkind too many times as well. She was so far from being the Proverbs 31 woman (her role model), that it wasn’t even funny. Being too impatient with Faith. Pushing her and being a perfectionist, making demands of Autumn and Faith to keep their rooms and the house meticulously clean.
Fussing at them over eating too much junk food and sugar, accidentally spilling their drinks on the table or carpet, talking too loud or making too much noise. No wonder everyone felt like they had to walk on eggshells around her. She acted like Sergeant Carter in the TV show Gomer Pile, “Move it, move it, move it!” How did they even put up with her at all? They must hate her.
Rachel also realized that while she would lay down her life for Faith if needed, sometimes she was emotionally unavailable to Faith. Preoccupied, worried and very stressed over her marriage and their finances, thinking—again—of herself and not of Faith, Rachel hadn’t realized how much Faith needed her, but she would just stay quiet about it and hide in her room. It broke Rachel’s heart, thinking of Faith in her bedroom, hauntingly playing the piano, so alone.
At times Rachel would get mad and yell about something, wounding Faith’s tender heart. Faith never talked about her hurt feelings, but Faith often could see it etched on her sad face, but would busy herself and forget about it—then at night, she’d cry, remembering how she had snapped at Faith or Jackson again. She’d apologize the next day, but by then the damage was done. Why wasn’t she a more patient wife and mom?
It was even worse with Autumn. They didn’t get along at all, and constantly butted heads, even though both of them desperately wanted the other’s love and respect. Autumn, being the stubborn, strong-willed girl she was, would give it right back to Rachel, and yell or say something smart to Rachel. Autumn should have respected her stepmom, but certainly at times Rachel deserved it.
God, please forgive me for how I’ve been a terrible wife and mom and hurt my family so much, and how much I’ve hurt and dishonored you. I haven’t loved them the way I should have. I have the patience of a gnat, it’s my way or the highway, I expect everyone and everything to be perfect, and let’s face it, sometimes I am not a very nice person. In fact, sometimes I am downright mean and nasty. Jackson should have divorced me a long time ago and taken the kids. Please crush my pride, God. Please help me to change and be more like You. You are the Potter, God, and I am the clay. Please make me into a vessel fit for use. Please give me another chance with my family. Change me from the inside out, God. Help me to become a woman of agape love. Make me like You, Jesus, Rachel prayed.
Her tears would fall down like the rain. One night she laid on the floor, and it felt as if God Himself was physically pressing His finger on her back, pinning her down without mercy, memories of things she’d done wrong coming in relentless wave after wave, like the ocean tide.
Here in this beach house, surrounded by the fierce hurricane, unable to escape or to save herself, God had Rachel exactly where He wanted her—facing herself and facing Him. There was nowhere to run or hide.
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your Presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me,” Rachel remembered from Psalm 139:7-10, NKJV.
At night, Rachel slept intermittently, restlessly, the pesky mosquitoes biting her and her dreams plagued with images of the hurricane and dead bodies, her crying out in fear for Jackson and Faith to help her and no one hearing or answering her. “Jackson!” she’d scream as another storm surge was slamming into the house. These scenes would play again and again through her dreams, with her sometimes feeling trapped and paralyzed in the dream, unable to wake up, terrifying her.
Each time that she’d finally wake up from the nightmares, her body soaked with sweat and afraid that she’d never be rescued and was going to die, Rachel would renew her mind with the word of God with Matthew 10:31, NIV: “So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” and Psalm 34:7, “The angel of the Lord encamps around thos
e who fear Him, and He delivers them.”
She was beginning to feel weak and dizzy. Rachel had thought every day of jumping the broken steps to get to safety somewhere else, but some of the partially broken steps, the snakes downstairs, and most of all, the house’s instability stopped her every time. Her bedroom window was too high to jump from to the ground outside; she’d die if she tried.
Her mind sometimes played tricks on her at night, seeing shadows on the walls when she’d go to the bathroom. She knew it was both PTSD from the trauma of the hurricane and it was also spiritual in nature. She would pray in the Spirit. All she wanted right now was Jackson’s arms around her again, telling her everything was okay.
That and Mexican. She’d practically kill for some Mexican right now, her favorite food in the whole world. Back at home, she always went out to eat Mexican with Jackson and Faith every couple of weeks when Jackson was paid. Her mouth watered at the thought right now of chips and salsa, with chicken fajitas, guacamole and queso cheese sauce. She knew this was such a carnal thought, when people had died from the hurricane. But there it was. She loved Mexican food.
Rachel often cried herself to sleep in frustration and anxiety from another day of not being rescued, but she’d pray determinedly from Mark 9:24 and Psalm Luke 4:10, “I believe, Lord; help my unbelief. I know that You didn’t allow me to survive the hurricane, just for me to die in this house. You will never leave me or forsake me. I commit myself to You tonight in Your loving, strong hands. Thank You that You’re going to send the rescuers very soon. Thank You that I am under the shelter of the Most High God and You order Your angels to guard and protect me.”
As Rachel would fall to sleep, hot, sweaty, and missing air conditioning fervently, the guardian angel would unsheathe his silver sword, battling with demons all night long, who were like hungry hyenas coming to devour her. They were afraid of the huge angel, but fought him fiercely anyway, growling and shrieking, determined to at least hurt her. They celebrated in flee that her fever was climbing, even with the Tylenol she took from the medical kit she’d put together before the hurricane hit.