by Beth Jones
Storm Tossed
Copyright © 2015 Beth Jones www.BethJones.net
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
Beth Jones is an International Speaker, Amazon Best Seller author, wife to paramedic Ray Jones, and mom of 3 beautiful daughters. She resides in the Kansas City, MO area. Her mission is equipping women to use their gifts for God’s glory, doing what they love, and prospering in all areas of life. She encourages women to dream big because we serve a big God.
To find out more about Beth’s speaking and books and to get your free video gift, You Weren’t Created To Fit In, But To Stand Out, sign up with your name and email address at Beth’s website, http://www.BethJones.net
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. All situations and events are depicted from the author’s perspective and perception. No harm is intended to any person, dead or alive, whom the author knows or has known.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB. http://www.lockman.org
Dedication
Dedicated to my husband Ray Jones who has lovingly held me in the storms of life, telling me it’s going to be okay, and who kept encouraging me to write this first fiction book; to our three beautiful daughters Heather, Eden, and Leah; and to my precious sister Maria, all who believe in my speaking and writing gifts and have encouraged me to use them for God’s glory. Thank you. I love you so much. God and you are my inspiration.
“Deep calls to deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and Your billows have swept over me.”—Psalm 42:7, World English Bible
Table of Contents
Introduction: Isaiah 54:11, NASB
Chapter 1: The Storm
Chapter 2: Colorless
Chapter 3: Waiting
Chapter 4: Dreams
Chapter 5: Storm Surge
Chapter 6: Survival
Chapter 7: Aftermath
Chapter 8: Alone
Chapter 9: Desperate
Chapter 10: Redemption
Conclusion: Epilogue
Discussion Questions
About the Author: Beth Jones
Introduction
“O afflicted one, storm-tossed, and not comforted,
Behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
And your foundations I will lay in sapphires.
Moreover, I will make your battlements of rubies,
And your gates of crystal,
And your entire wall of precious stones.
All your sons will be taught of the Lord;
And the well-being of your sons will be great.
In righteousness you will be established;
You will be far from oppression, for you will not fear;
And from terror, for it will not come near you.
If anyone fiercely assails you it will not be from Me.
Whoever assails you will fall because of you.
Behold, I Myself have created the smith who blows the fire of coals
And brings out a weapon for its work;
And I have created the destroyer to ruin.
No weapon that is formed against you will prosper;
And every tongue that accuses you in judgment you will condemn.
This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord,
And their vindication is from Me,” declares the Lord.
~ Isaiah 54:11, NASB
Chapter 1: The Storm
Category three, CNN was saying. The worst storm to hit Destin, Florida since Hurricane Ike, in which at least 112 people died and where Florida Governor Charlie Crist had ordered a mandatory evacuation of all visitors on September 6. This hurricane, Ana, was supposed to be even worse. Not as deadly as Katrina, but still terrifying.
God hadn’t told Rachel Long to evacuate and go home to her husband Jackson and her daughter Faith in Colorado. But was it really God’s voice—or a suicidal mission? True, her rented beach house was elevated with 10 foot pilings, had two floors and an attic to escape to, in case of a storm surge. Would the house stand? Would she drown?
Rachel sighed deeply. What on earth was she still doing here? She’d come here to take a much-needed, relaxing break and suddenly, in the middle of working on writing her book, her neighbor Paula had called to warn her about the news of the impending storm.
You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t the life I signed up for, Rachel thought. A bad storm would certainly interrupt her writing plans, especially if the power went off, and she hadn’t banked on a hurricane happening while she was there for the summer.
Why is it that nothing ever seemed to go according to her plans? What, God? She thought. What is going on here? Can’t you just make it go the opposite way or something? Turn the storm, God!
Rachel felt so frustrated that she now wasn’t able to write chapter five in her new romance novel about an Amish teen girl strictly forbidden by her parents to talk to the good-looking, 30-something, non-Amish man hanging around their community lately, but sneaking off in the evening to see him anyway. Rachel had been in the writing zone, and now this!
Instead, Rachel was having to rush around like a chicken with its head cut off, gassing up her car, buying food, water, and hurricane supplies and to talk over emergency plans with her landlord and her neighbors. All she wanted was some peace and quiet to write.
The storm was probably overrated anyway, and would be downsized to a mild tropical storm like the recent one that hit. Lots of rain and thunder, but no major show.
The people of Destin acted almost disappointed about the weather, after it had been the talk of the town for a week. Now they were both scared and excited again at the possibility of a hurricane.
Already people were planning big hurricane parties in homes and at condos on the beach, with lots of chips, dips, snack trays, beer, margaritas, pina coladas, and other fruity drinks. The town was alive with energy, especially at night, reminding Rachel of Las Vegas which she had visited last summer for a writer’s conference for three days.
No, this was not supposed to be happening at all! Rachel thought, looking longingly at her new, light-weight, cyan-blue laptop that Jackson recently bought her as an anniversary gift. She used to want flowers and candy from him; now the only presents she wanted were tech gadgets!
This hurricane business was a big distraction to her work. Rachel didn’t have time for this interruption in her plans.
It was like her marriage, their kids and their friends. Why didn’t anyone ever listen to her and just do what she said? If everyone would just cooperate, things would go a lot better, she’d tell them and they’d roll their eyes. Then they’d do the opposite of what she had suggested. Only Jackson didn’t call it suggestions; he said she ordered people around and could easily be a military general.
Now if the weather would just cooperate and be the beautiful, tropical, sunny weather in Florida like normal, she might actually be able to enjoy this time away alone and get some writing done.
These past few weeks after first arriving, Rachel had been soaking up the sun on her giant, orange sun and green palm tree towel on the beach, reveling in the smell of the salt air, the lulling sound of the waves, and the breath-taking beauty of the ocean, which never
ceased to amaze her and remind her of God’s greatness.
Rachel always felt so small looking out at the vast sea, and felt how very big God was. How could anyone look at the ocean and not believe in Him? How could they be on the beach and not feel Him so very near?
Rachel took pics with her iPhone of her toes in the white sand for her blog, floated in the delicious, blue-green water, and felt her cares melt away and a peace that had eluded her for years. Rachel wanted to move to Florida, but Jackson still wanted signs from God that was His will. How many signs had God sent now? Fifteen, twenty? Prophetic confirmation after confirmation, from person after person.
One time they were even watching a TV show and a man was saying to the main character, Justin, “You just need to take a leap of faith, pack everything up, and move to Florida.” Rachel had burst out laughing. Was it any more obvious than the nose on his face? What would it take for God to get through to the man?
Rachel, I am wanting to get through to you, she heard God suddenly speak to her heart in His still, small voice. She frowned and wondered what God meant.
A dart of fear entered her heart. What if there really was a bad hurricane? She had tried to brush it off, and reassure her family that she would be okay and she didn’t think it’d really happen. What if she was wrong?
Because her neighbors were so insistent to be ready just in case, Rachel asked them for help to prepare as best as possible. She’d never been in a hurricane, not even in a tornado. Some of them were staying, too. They were born here, they’d seen a hurricane before, their houses stood, and they weren’t afraid, they confidently told her: Jim and Paula, in their 80’s; Gail and her twin sister Janine, one widowed and one divorced, in their 60’s; and Ben and Mandy, a newly married, young surfer couple and Ben’s teen brother Andy. In fact, Ben and Andy were pumped about the storm, saying, “Leave? No way, dude! This is going to be cray-cray!”
The man who had rented her the beach house, Mr. James, and the men in her neighborhood helped her to board the windows. The women assisted her with putting together a disaster kit: stocking up on a week’s worth of food and water (canned goods, tuna, sardines, Saltine crackers, peanut butter, candy bars, cheese in Ziploc bags, cookies, a few MRE’s, eating utensils, paper plates, plastic cups, a 5 gallon empty, plastic bucket, flashlights and batteries, a battery-powered weather radio, dust masks, plastic sheets, duct tape (Hello Kitty tape, of course), moist towelettes, thick garbage bags, plastic ties, tools to turn off and on utilities, her Hello Kitty sleeping bag, dollar store bleach, several warm blankets, matches in a waterproof container, a manual can opener (had she ever used one?), journals, pens and paper (a must as a writer!), her laptop and charger, clothes, sturdy shoes, her lemon-yellow gum boots, and her iPhone with a charger (would it do any good with no power?), her car and house keys in her purse, first aid kit, and important papers sealed in a large Ziploc bag, a CB radio. She even got the whistle to call for help, for crying out loud.
The Publix grocery store was insanely crowded, with shelves emptying fast, looking strangely naked and barren. The lines at the gas stations were unreal, people were impatiently honking, and gas prices had mysteriously risen. The fear and panic were almost palpable, and yet there was a contagious and vivacious energy in the air, with people laughing and making stupid, nervous jokes.
The storm was hitting in a matter of hours. It would soon be dark. After she spent the last of the money Jackson had sent her except about $45 cash, then she called home, and Jackson yelled that she was plain crazy, she was going to die, and to listen to him for once, for God’s sake.
Faith, phlegmatic, rock-steady, never one to show much emotion, said in a worried voice, “Mom, it’s too risky. I think you need to evacuate as fast as possible. Listen to dad.” It was Faith’s unusual concern that scared her more than anything, but Rachel reassured them both it was going to be okay.
She hung up the phone quickly after telling Faith that she loved her, so Jackson would stop yelling and cursing, and she cried, tears as big as the ocean falling down her face, her body heaving with frightened and guilty sobs. Oh God, what if Jackson was right? What if she did die? Was she ready to meet God? Would Faith know how much she had loved her? How could she do this to her family? Maybe she was crazy.
In her mind, she saw Faith’s beautiful face, her long blonde silky hair, her big blue eyes framed with thick, black lashes, the often sad look on her face. She knew Faith was lonely and depressed, but didn’t know how to help her, since she struggled with her own demons.
She had hoped by coming here to Destin that she could find answers for her troubled life—peace with herself and with God. Whether to divorce Jackson. As a Christian, she knew God hated divorce. But didn’t He hate their loveless, sexless, empty marriage of almost 25 years, too?
Her mind went back to last year after another escalating fight over too much month and not enough money, and she knew she couldn’t keep doing this. She’d asked herself if she did divorce Jackson, who would Faith live with? How would they survive? Rachel couldn’t earn what Jackson made in his construction business, even if she did go back to work as an online virtual assistant, which she had hated.
Faith, though 19 going on 30, was still such a daddy’s girl and would probably choose him. That would break Rachel’s heart. She knew that this was the biggest reason she hadn’t left him.
Rachel longed to hold Faith tight. She missed her with every fiber of her being. Sometimes it hurt so bad that she was so far away from her. Five months away had seemed an eternity.
What if she could never hug her again? But Faith had never liked anyone to touch her very much, even as a child. As a baby, she’d pull off her socks, throwing them over the crib, apparently because she had the sensory processing disorder, tactile sensitivity. It hurt Rachel deeply that Faith would pull away if she tried to hug her and rarely said, “I love you.” But she knew she did anyway. Didn’t she? Doubts and worries gnawed at her as she cut open the packages of batteries and put them in the flashlight.
In her head, as she hurriedly got ready, Rachel could hear her mother Stacy, who died of a heart attack in Rachel’s teens, saying, “Have you lost your mind?” Stacy was a fearful woman, superstitious, and Rachel had fought her whole life to be nothing like her. Mama who had stayed married 29 years until her death to her alcoholic father, because she loved him and was too scared to leave and be a single mom. She tried to tell herself, “I’m not like scaredy-cat mama! I’m not afraid of this storm! God will protect me and get me through it!”
Her ailing father Stewart, recently put in a nursing home in Alabama by her older brother Jerry and her sister Faye, despite his protests, would have told Rachel to leave, too. She didn’t dare call him to tell him she was staying, but ached at the thought that if something--God forbid--did happen, she wouldn’t have called him to say goodbye and tell him one last time that she loved him. Of course she had called him a couple of weeks ago.
Her sister Faye knew she was staying. Rachel had sworn her to secrecy not to tell their dad or brother, or her kids who blabbed everything to everyone, bless their hearts. Faye had cried, telling her to leave. “Don’t you remember Hurricane Ike? Don’t you remember Katrina and Andrew? What in the hell is wrong with you? Are you nuts? Get in the car and go home!”
“I love you! I’ll call you as soon as I can when it’s blown over! I don’t know how soon phone, power, or internet service will be restored!” Rachel said, hanging up, crying again. She missed her sister, too. She even missed her ornery brother Jerry, who rarely spoke to her, too busy with his law career, his girlfriends who would fall in love with him and then he’d dump them, his insatiable need for more, more, more success. Success in everything except relationships.
She knew it was really his fear of failure, failure like their alcoholic dad had experienced his entire career, which drove Jerry so hard. Miraculously, being away from everyone and everything had shifted her perspective.
Suddenly she was seeing thing
s much clearer. Her heart was expanding with compassion and understanding, swelling like the waves on the beach now. She forgave Jerry, again, for always keeping her at arm’s length, keeping his distance from everyone who got too close. Don’t we all do that? Aren’t we afraid of people seeing who we really are, and rejecting us, she wondered.
She could hear the wind getting stronger outside. She turned and listened. What if the hurricane was as bad as they said? She suddenly envisioned a tidal wave rushing toward her beach house, and her screaming for help, with no one to hear her, the salt water pulling her under and filling her mouth and lungs. She’d always had a fear of drowning, so why was she doing this?
Ben’s voice at the door shook the morbid thoughts away. “Hey, Rach, did you get everything you needed at the store? Enough batteries? Ready to eat?” They had ordered pizza earlier, planning a Hurricane Ana pizza party with their neighbors. It would be cold by now, but Rachel’s mouth watered at the thought of a thick slice of pepperoni/anchovy pizza, extra sauce.
“Oh, Ben, thanks.” Rachel felt so scattered. “I think I’ll pass this time. It’s one of my weaknesses, you know.”
“Batteries or pizza?” Ben grinned at her, running his big, tan hand through wind-whipped black, short, spiked hair, his wry humor reminding her again how young he was and how young she did not feel now. He is just too good-looking, she thought. He’s like walking testosterone. Good grief, she chastised herself, you could be his mother! And you’re married. If it could be called that anymore.
Blushing and suddenly thinking about Jackson’s hairy chest and bulging biceps, she looked down at her supplies that seemed so meager against such a raging force of nature. “I appreciate the invite. And all your help. You just don’t know how much it means to me.”
Tears suddenly filled her eyes, and she dabbed at them, embarrassed. She realized she missed Jackson. Not just his biceps, but his voice. His hazel eyes. His freeing laugh, when he rarely laughed anymore. His corny jokes to try to make her laugh, because when she smiled, he smiled. Her smile lit up a room, he’d always said. Because she often looked so sad and hopeless, he often cracked dumb jokes to try to get her to laugh. Yes, she missed her husband. It shocked her.
