by Beth Jones
Chapter 6: Survival
As Rachel prayed, her body shivered hard in fear. Get a grip! The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want, yea though I walk down the valley of the shadow death, I will fear no evil, she prayed. She couldn’t even think straight of how the scripture really went because she was so scared.
She could hear the raging waters downstairs in the first story, and was terrified the waters would rise to the second story any time now. Recently she’d read in the news that in an unusually heavy thunderstorm in Texas, following the severe drought since October 2010, eight inches of rain had fallen. Flash flood waters from the Blanco River in Wimberley, TX, had risen 12 to 14 feet in 30 minutes. Twenty-two people had died from the Texas storm. The thought made her very uneasy.
The 12-foot storm surge here in Florida had not only gone over the top of the steel stilts, but was up to the first story of Rachel’s beach house. The rushing, gurgling water downstairs seemed to have a sinister voice, to pull her under its cold darkness at any moment.
She felt the enemy laughing in glee at her and rebuked him in Jesus’ name. Her life was in God’s hands. He couldn’t take her out before God said so!
She remembered her friend Tiffany, who had almost died 12 times from her different heart surgeries since childhood. She was nicknamed “Cat Woman,” because she seemed to have nine lives like a cat. We are the potter and He is the clay, Rachel thought.
Almost every house in Rachel’s neighborhood was instantly demolished by the surge. She was lucky to be alive…no, not lucky, but divinely protected. Rachel’s eyes did not spiritually see the army of angels encamped all around her and the house, but they were very present, fighting on her behalf in response to the saints’ prayers, a pleasing aroma to God. She had many family members and friends praying for her and all of Florida.
She wondered about her neighbors. Surely they were all dead by now. Their house was nowhere near as tall as hers, or as solidly constructed. They didn’t have a Topsider home, although their home had survived hurricanes in the past.
She didn’t know how on earth she’d find out how they fared, or how long it would be before she could even attempt to go over there. How long did it take for storm surge waters to recede? She could be here days, or even weeks. Horror stories about families trapped in flooded homes without food or water dying came to her mind, and she shook them away determinedly, like Scarlett O’Hara telling herself she’d think about that tomorrow, for after all tomorrow is another day.
We’re all crazy, she thought. We should have all evacuated with the others! Why did we stay? Why did I listen to my neighbors? Why didn’t I listen to Jackson? I was wrong!
She could hear doors breaking violently and windows shattering, despite the “hurricane proof” construction, and knew that the furniture by now must be floating around downstairs, ruined, or demolished by the storm’s force. She remembered the scripture in Matthew 6:20 about storing up heavenly treasures that couldn’t be destroyed by moth or rust. Or hurricanes, she thought.
She’d brought many of her favorite little things with her on this trip, in case she decided to divorce Jackson, but they were now probably all ruined. She had been so rash and stupid!
What good would all those things do her now, if she was about to die—Premiere jewelry, books galore, special little souvenirs from places she’d traveled, wall art, stuffed animals, magazines, cute shoes, some photograph albums of their family (one of her most prized possessions, besides her Bible), scrapbooks, scrapbook materials and tools, collections of Faith’s school papers throughout the years (why did she keep it all this stuff?), a music box with a ballerina on top of it that Jackson had given her when they dated, her gymnastic trophies, boxes of letters from her sister (her favorite pen pal in the world; they drew stick figure cartoons to each other), a giant plastic Tupperware dish of Sharpies, colored markers and pencils, pastel-colored sticky notes, their tax returns (Jackson let her handle the finances because she was better at it), bank statements.
Just stuff. So much stuff. Now gone in an instant. And now the only thing that mattered was God and the ones she loved. She realized, deep down, she really didn’t want to divorce Jackson. She just wanted their marriage healed and the pain to stop.
She started crying, berating herself for being so stupid to come here, and now all these things were gone, irreplaceable. Thank God she’d had the sense to upload most of the family pictures online before she’d left for Florida, as well as scan their important papers. But the other things were gone forever.
Did this stuff matter? Wasn’t all that mattered God, love, family, friends, and fulfilling your purpose?
She reflected back on her life. All the ridiculous, over the top arguments with Jackson about such dumb stuff. Where to eat dinner. He’d ask her, she’d say I don’t know, and when she finally decided where to eat, he’d try to change her mind to go somewhere that he really wanted to eat and then they’d fight—and not go anywhere.
His dirty clothes constantly thrown on the floor instead of the laundry basket. Was she a maid, she’d ask him. Her buying new clothes, with him yelling at her that he wasn’t a work horse and he was tired of working his butt off all the time, just for her blow it and leave him nothing for work lunches except tuna or ham sandwiches.
Him never asking for directions when they traveled and getting them lost for an hour, or him not putting enough gas in the car, making her crazy with stress or worry that they’d run out of gas.
The last time they went out of town, he forgot his wallet and they had no money to eat dinner, so Autumn had to PayPal money to them for food. How embarrassing to have their daughter pay for their nice dinner out!
Fights over her and Autumn not getting along. Arguments over exactly how to motivate Faith to get a job or go to college or take some kind of action step of faith, for crying out loud.
Loud fights over sex with Jackson (or the lack of it), never having enough money despite his good pay, family members, his uncertain seasonal career, his long work hours, him working too much, him not working enough, her books not paying enough royalties to make a difference, her eating out Mexican all the time, him hinting for her to exercise and then saying he wasn’t hinting and that she was just too sensitive, him gambling away $200 of his paycheck which was supposed to go for the electric bill. Round and round the mountain they always went.
It. Was. So. Old.
Stupid, ridiculous, childish fights over things that didn’t really matter. Why couldn’t they simply get along? Why couldn’t they just love each other like normal, married couples?
She felt a large impact against the house, heard a loud snapping noise and more rushing of water. What was that? God, what if it was rising to the second story? She began praying in the Spirit again more fervently. Her Volkswagen Beetle had been picked up by the surge and the strong current, and slammed into one of the beach house’s steel stilts, crushing it like a sardine can on the driver and left passenger side. Would the house topple?
It was totaled, as almost all the cars were in the neighborhood. Those that weren’t crushed by the hurricane were at risk for mold and mildew and would be claimed a total loss by insurance companies. There was an estimated $49.7 billion in insured losses during Hurricane Katrina alone, she remembered from reading the reports prior to driving here.
All those people who lost everything--their homes, their cars, their furniture, their favorite things they’d saved over the years, their businesses, and the family they loved. How do you cope with the grief? How do you go on and move past such tragedy? How do you pick up the pieces of your life when you have nothing left? Only the grace of God, she wondered.
The wind outside raged like a madwoman, and the lightning was so close to the house she thought it was going to hit it. She knew she was safer inside the house than outdoors, but every year people died from lightning strikes, sometimes just moments and steps away before getting to safety. She’d recently read between the years 2006 and 2013, 261 peo
ple were struck and killed by lightning in the U.S.
Between a choice of lightning and drowning, she’d choose lightning death, but right now she preferred living, at least a little longer. The thunder boomed, one right after the other, the sky lightning up glorious rainbow colors, and it was as if God Himself were in the house shouting.
What was He shouting to her?
I want to go home, she prayed. God, please get me home to my family. Nothing matters but you and them. Have mercy, Lord Jesus. Please don’t let me die. I forgive Jackson. I really forgive him, God, for everything—even the floozy. I forgive Autumn for how she has hurt me. Forgive me for not loving her the way she needed to be loved. I forgive Faith for hurting me, never hugging me back and never saying ‘I love you, mom.’ I forgive my parents for not loving me the way I needed them to. Oh and that snotty lady at church, God. What’s her name. I forgive her, too. Maybe she’s just really hurting inside—like me. God, please rescue me. I want to go home and really live a life of love. Please show me how. Teach me to love. Save me from the storm and save me from a loveless life. Because You are love, God. I want to be like You.
*******
Rachel woke up at 5:59 a.m. Somehow, by some miracle, she must have fallen asleep in the storm. Like Jesus on the boat with his disciples, she mused. He woke up, rebuked the storm, and asked His disciples where their faith was. Where was hers?
Her body was stiff and ached. Her neck had a bad crick in it. Despite the circumstances, she laughed at herself for the thought, remembering how her grandmother Taylor always said that. What a funny expression, but now she knew what it meant.
She’d fallen asleep on the hardwood floor, not in her usual, comfy beach house bed with its beautiful soft, white comforter and white goose down feather pillows. Everything in that room was white and pure. Lots of open space with a big bay window overlooking the beach. Decorated with a few large shells, sand dollars, dried out red and purple starfish, and turquoise, unique bottles filled with the soft, white Destin sand on bookshelves: shelves lined with wonderful books to read all summer.
Alone, reading, writing, laying on the beach, listening to its beckoning sounds. The waves, the sea gulls, the sound of children laughing, were like a heavenly orchestra to her spirit. That bedroom with its books, sea shells, and starfish, its blue glass bottles and white comforter, was a slice of heaven on earth and why she’d chosen that beach house. As for the ocean, it was her heart’s home. Always welcoming and promising, always a peaceful, renewing, healing balm to her soul.
She’d come here to write. That, and the fact that it was miles away from everyone and everything so she could think straight and because it was a “hurricane-proof” Topsider home. At least the storm surge hadn’t reached the second story and she hadn’t had to wield the axe, cutting through the roof to be rescued.
Not that she would have known how, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do that anyway. That thing was so heavy. She’d practiced a couple swings on some hardware store planks with Ben showing her how to do it. He’d laughed with her at her feeble attempts, but said she was doing pretty well for a “foreigner” there. She was relieved she hadn’t had to use it for real. So far, she thought, shivering. God, please hold back the water.
Now where was her hairbrush and makeup bag? Oh my gosh, she thought, habits die hard. Here she is after a hurricane and she’s worried about her hair and putting on her face. You’re so vain, Carly Simon’s song lyrics ran through her mind. Forgive me, God. Thank you that I’m alive. I praise You, God, because You are worthy of all worship and praise. Please let my neighbors be alive somehow, miraculously, God. Please help me, them, and others.
She didn’t worry about her wrinkled clothes or for once, putting on her black eyeliner, her trademark. She quickly pulled on her lemon-yellow gumboots and by habit, checked her phone. How stupid, she thought. Of course there isn’t any service! The towers are down! She turned on the weather radio and was dismayed to hear how many homes, businesses, and lives had been destroyed in Hurricane Ana and that Governor Susan Rudy had declared a state of emergency, with the Red Cross, FEMA agents, and the National Guard being called upon for assistance.
She closed her eyes, gulping, when news reporter Bob Bright (had he ever gone to sleep? Why was he still reporting?) said that one of the Destin graveyards had been hit and there were dead bodies, from the graveyard and the storm, floating in the street and to please stay inside to prevent the spread of disease.
Dead people. Disease. Rachel shivered from cold and fear. The temperature had dropped a lot since the storm. She knew after disasters, it spread rapidly from dead bodies, sickness, lack of clean food and water, unclean hygiene, flies, mosquitoes, rodents, and other pests.
The house only had one bathroom and shower, and it was downstairs on the first floor, which was now flooded from the surge. She was afraid to go down there. What if one of those breaking sounds was the front door busting open and a dead body had floated in, like they were on the roads which were now muddy, salty rivers? She thought she’d lose her mind if she saw that.
She’d have to use the 5 gallon bucket in the room for a bathroom for now, until she was rescued. She knew from taking survival class last summer to keep it covered tight to prevent flies, mosquitoes, and other pests from getting in it. She’d use trash bags for a cover.
She grimaced at the thought of living so primitively and was afraid of getting sick. What if I survived the storm only to die of disease afterward? She thought. Then she rebuked the thought. God didn’t save you through that hellacious storm just for you to die of disease! Stop thinking so negative and fearful! It’s time for action now. You need to find out how everyone is and if--. Rachel remembered her neighbors’ smiling, friendly faces and couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing them again, so she started hurrying.
She would move the gallon bucket “bathroom” to another room since she’d be sleeping and eating here for a while. She hoped it wouldn’t be more than a few days. She needed to get on the CB and call for help, then get the heck out of dodge and fly home. The landlord Mr. James would just have to get over the fact that she was breaking her lease early. Let him sue her. It was understandable in these extenuating circumstances that she couldn’t stay here.
All she wanted to do now was go home to her Jackson and her Faith—and yes, even her stepdaughter Autumn. The storm had opened her eyes to what a blessing she really was in her life. Another daughter. A gift from God.
She didn’t know what she would do for a shower since the shower was downstairs, other than judiciously using the alcohol wipes to stay somewhat clean. She guessed that not being able to wash and straight-iron her hair for several days, or even, God forbid, a week, was a small price to pay for still being alive.
Thank you, God, she prayed again. I don’t deserve to be alive, but You heard my prayers and answered me. You must still have a purpose and a plan for me. Thank you, Lord Jesus.
She took the 5 gallon bucket and the toilet paper into the second bedroom. She had been using the third bedroom as her office since she arrived here, when she wasn’t outside sipping her coffee and using her laptop. She loved having a portable business that she could take on the road wherever she went.
After she used the bucket, she covered it tightly with 2 thick trash bags and closed the door, praying that God would keep flies, mosquitoes, and other pests away from it. It disgusted her, but she had no choice right now.
She went into her bedroom and tried to use the CB to call for help. Like her phone, no access to anyone, but she heard a tiny bit of static which gave her hope that she could eventually get someone on the line to ask for help. She blew the whistle that she had bought with the hurricane prep supplies, feeling silly, but it was worth a shot to get rescued.
She wiped her hands with an alcohol wipe and slowly ate some unsalted cashew nuts and a fresh mango. The mango was sweet, juicy, just perfect. God was amazing how He created everything. She blessed the food and thanke
d God for it.
Usually for breakfast, Rachel had an easy-over egg, occasionally with bacon. Her mouth watered at the thought of bacon. You can never go wrong with bacon! Sometimes she enjoyed a blueberry bagel with cream cheese with her morning ritual coffee, but the toaster was downstairs and now submerged. No toasted bagel for you, she thought, grinning wryly, in spite of the circumstances.
She’d dearly miss her morning coffee and was thankful she had thought ahead of time to pick up some cold Starbucks frappucinos. Not the same as her hot coffee with a little creamer, and certainly sugar overload for her radically changed lifestyle, but hey, it was caffeine. After she ate, she wiped her hands, putting the wipe on top of her purse to stay as clean as possible. She’d reuse things as much as she could, not knowing when exactly she’d be rescued.
Rachel drank the cold coffee, sighing contentedly. Even in the midst of this chaos, here was some comfort. Somehow, coffee made the world all right again.
Rachel looked down the stairs. Naturally the power was still off. She didn’t know it, but thousands in Florida were without power now. Crews had been called from other states to help with the widespread power outages that would take 15 days to restore. She saw the big, soft, red chair with the huge pillows by the stairs. How strange it looked, floating around aimlessly like that, as if displaced from its purpose. Then she saw some books. Oh no, one of her favorites, Pride and Prejudice. Ruined.
She knew it was ridiculous to get so upset over a book, when people had certainly died, but she’d always cherished books. She viewed them as friends. She knew that it was silly and maybe even wrong to feel this way, when maybe even her neighbors—Rachel couldn’t finish the thought. It scared her too much.
Too close to home. Her neighbors were precious to her. She’d grown to really love them as close friends during her stay. She couldn’t stand to think of them as gone. It upset her too much.
