Storm Tossed: A troubled woman finds peace with herself and God in the midst of life's storms.

by Beth Jones

  And if they were dead, who would help her? How was she going to get rescued without a cell phone, the CB, neighbors nearby?

  Would a fireman or police man or some random person find her weeks later, dead in this beach house from starvation, dehydration, or some other cause?

  Would some psycho weirdo break into the house now, raping or violently killing her? She would be at his mercy. The storm had frightened her so much, the enemy was tormenting her with new fears. Then she remembered, God’s mercies are new each morning. But what if…?

  One night she and Jackson had talked late into the night about all the looters and criminals who went crazy after Hurricane Katrina. They acted like animals. Fear and panic could bring out the worst behavior in people.

  Why had she come here, knowing it was hurricane season? She had convinced herself that she was right, Jackson was wrong, and she needed to do this to figure out what to do with her life. Had it worked? Was this storm a Divine appointment for her, showing her how much her marriage—and her family—really mattered? To show her the contents of her heart—her stubbornness, her pride, her rudeness, her being all about self--her constantly putting up walls with Jackson to protect herself from hurt, keep him and others at arms’ length all the time?

  She blew the whistle and tried the CB again, over and over, to no avail. How was she supposed to find out how her neighbors were? What was she supposed to do all day and night, while waiting to be rescued? She knew the CB batteries could probably only last about 30 hours on standby. The range was only a couple of miles. What if the battery power ran out before someone heard her cry for help? How could she let Jackson, Faith and Autumn know she had survived? Certainly they must be worried sick about her.

  She dared to look out at the bedroom’s big bay window and the scene left her in shock. What had been her neighbors’ beautiful beach homes were no more. It was as if a bomb had exploded.

  As far as her eyes could see, trees were either completely destroyed or left standing, stripped bare of leaves, looking like tall, gaunt skeletons haunting the land. Cars, mangled and crushed. A black and white Converse sneaker oddly on top of a burgundy-colored SUV’s smashed roof. Where was the other shoe? Just like a shoe on the highway, she mused.

  Household objects floating carelessly in the littered sea water: kitchen tables and chairs, parts of particle board bookshelves, a big white porcelain tub, a pink toilet, clothes, shoes, tools, beach balls, toy buckets, Barbie dolls, a GI Joe, a Peanut Butter Captain Crunch cereal box, oranges looking strangely pretty and bright in the blue-brown water, parts of wildflowers, seaweed, dead fish, and yes—dead bodies, including children’s and babies. It was a horror scene, the stuff of nightmares, surreal. She gasped and began sobbing. God, have mercy. That could be me.

  *******

  At Rachel’s neighbor’s house, Ben was checking on everyone, digging through boards, smashed furniture, broken glass. He was afraid he was the only survivor. The house had been demolished. It was only God’s grace, a miracle, that he was alive. This storm had been different from the others they’d face.

  “Mandy!” he yelled, throwing off the wet, heavy debris that he’d been covered in. He noted a few scratches on his body, but nothing major. “Andy! Hello? Anyone here? Mandy, baby, where are you?”

  He had to hold it together. He couldn’t cry like a baby. Man up, he told himself. Find them because they’ll probably need help. If they even made it…

  It’d been a long time since he prayed, but he began praying in earnest now. God, I know I haven’t talked to you in a long time. Ignored you, just taken You for granted. But please, Jesus, let my wife be alive. I love her so much. Please let the others here somehow have made it through this storm. And Rachel, too. I promise I won’t walk away from You again! God, please hear my voice and forgive my sins. I’m sorry I haven’t been walking closely with You for a long time. Thank You that You saved me from the storm.

  “Mandy!” he yelled louder, and then he heard a groan behind him. The waters stirred like the angel stirring the waters at the pool of Bethesda. Ben’s beautiful, black-haired wife was pinned underneath a big chair, boards covering her face. She moaned again. Her soft green eyes were wide with fear and pain, but relief washed over her face, seeing her husband.

  “Mandy!” he shouted, swimming through the water to her a few feet away. “Are you okay, hon?”

  He kissed her mouth, and sobbed with relief. Thank you, God, thank you so much, he prayed. Then he began pulling the debris off her carefully but quickly, and noticed a gash in her head, likely from a nail or the split wood, that might require a few stitches. “Talk to me. Where do you hurt?” he asked.

  “My head hurts. And my right leg,” she said, her voice faint. “It feels trapped under something. Are you hurt? Is anyone else here? Is everyone okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said, concerned she might have a concussion. “I’m going to go under the water and look at your leg. The chair is on top of you, pinning you down. The surge must have been 10 feet high at least. Hold on.” He dove under the water quickly, his eyes stinging from the dirty salt-water, and he came right back up. No need to get his eyes infected or potentially swallow water that could be toxic.

  He began pushing the chair hard to free her. It felt like an elephant’s weight with the water still rushing around them. God, help me, he prayed again. Send some angels here to help us. Ben suddenly felt the room’s atmosphere change to a holy presence. Mandy cried out in pain as Ben pushed hard, grunting, and then she was suddenly released.

  “Okay, how’s your leg? Be careful! Can you feel your leg?” Ben stared at her face, worried about a broken bone or even paralysis.

  “Yes, but it hurts like heck. I think it may be just bruised or sprained, not broken.” Mandy leaned against Ben, shivering from the cold water. He embraced her protectively, his face in her dark, wet hair, so grateful to have his wife in his arms again, alive. He sighed with relief about her leg’s pain. Good sign.

  “My head,” she said.

  “Yeah, you’ve got a little nasty cut. Not severe. But probably needs a few stitches. I can do a butterfly stitch if I can find the medical kit. Or duct tape will work great. When was your last tetanus shot? Can you move your leg at all?”

  “My last shot was a couple years ago before I took that missions trip to India with our church. Yeah, I can, but it hurts.”

  Ben had forgotten about that missions trip. Mandy had come back with a soft light in her face and her eyes, a more tender, compassionate heart. More broken. God had done amazing, miraculous things there and it had changed her life. Deepened her walk with and faith in God. He had given her such a heart for the lost and for orphan children there on the streets, hungry, thirsty, many of them being sold as sex slaves in human trafficking. It was an increasing global problem, even in the U.S.

  Yes, it had been horribly hot there, up to a sweltering 115 degrees at times. Some of the cities were filled with garbage. Trash several feet high on every corner. The stench was almost unbearable to her. At times Mandy begged God to go home.

  She’d also gotten sick from something she ate, had diarrhea for days, and almost passed out once. She lost a lot of weight while there.

  The people worshipped hundreds of false gods in India, many in bondage to witchcraft. The spiritual warfare had been intense.

  But the missions trip made her faith stronger. She had stayed in a posture of prayer, depending on Jesus throughout the difficult trip. She came back on fire for God, knowing missions work was her purpose, what God had created her for.

  She was an evangelist and she wanted to save women and children in the bondage of human trafficking, one day owning a house of hope for them, rescued from prostitution and drug addiction. Mandy’s House of Hope, she’d call it. She envisioned women and children living at the home, getting saved, being educated for jobs and having their own ministries.

  Ben wasn’t totally with the program yet; he thought it was a “cool idea,” but Go
d had to do some more work in his heart first before she’d be released to do it. At that time, Ben’s faith in God was more like riding on his parents’ coat tails than making it his own. Religion more than relationship. Yeah, he believed in Jesus as Savior. But he didn’t have that intimacy with Him like Mandy did daily. She talked to and heard God clearly.

  He’d always gone to church with his family growing up, but it didn’t deeply touch his heart. Not like India did for Mandy.

  He was often apathetic about God. Sure, he went to church with Mandy on Sunday mornings and even some Wednesday nights. But he’d rather watch football or hang out at the beach, surfing with Andy. He knew Jesus was the Messiah. He knew God was real. Heck, he even prayed sometimes, especially when things were going rough financially and especially when Mandy went through her miscarriage at two months pregnant.

  She carried the grief inside silently, but he could feel its weight and how much she hurt over it. He didn’t know what to do to help, so he stayed quiet and didn’t talk about it much. He didn’t want to make it worse. He tried to just love her a lot and tell her how much she meant to him. He hoped she could see that she was everything to him. He’d never met a woman like her in his life. She was definitely the one for him, his forever love. God, he loved her.

  But he wasn’t too sure God was interested in the intricate details of his life or had any kind of special purpose for him.

  Ben seemed to be a natural born leader. People often came to him for advice and listened to him; they were drawn to him everywhere he went, without much of an effort on his part. They came to him for counsel about their problems; he wasn’t sure why.

  He just knew that he often figured out problems, saw easy solutions, and people were always so grateful for his help. He made friends easily because he was such a good listener and always offered practical wisdom to help others. He wasn’t sure how that played into any kind of “life plan” or “purpose” from God.

  At least not like Mandy feeling “called” to evangelize and help women and children in human trafficking. He didn’t have her zeal to tell people about this wonderful man named Jesus or to rescue sex slaves. He admired it, but that just wasn’t him. He wasn’t ashamed of God at all, but he didn’t feel led to evangelize a village.

  He’d rather hang around a group of friends over pizza or hot wings and encourage them, just have a good time laughing. He always saw the positive in things and in people, and let them know; that and just really listening to people were his gifts, if he even had such a thing.

  In India, Mandy had seen people saved and healed in the name of Jesus. The change in her had convicted him, but he’d pushed thoughts of God away, staying busy working and surfing. But he thought of God now as he looked worriedly at his beautiful wife. God, let her be okay, he prayed quickly. Right now he’d do anything God asked him to do, as long as Mandy was okay. She was his life.

  Ben felt her leg carefully to assess swelling and abrasions. No cuts, a little swelling. He wouldn’t be able to see the coloring until they were out of this water. They needed to find higher ground after they found everyone. He gulped. If anyone else made it.

  Mandy moved her leg slowly at first, then more quickly. “Where is everyone?” she asked, forgetting her pain. “How are we going to get out of here, Ben?”

  “I don’t know yet. Andy! Jim! Paula? Can anyone hear me?” Ben looked around, swimming while holding Mandy close to him to help her swim, too. They heard a cry in the other room and swam past the broken recreation room door. The water, for some reason, was calmer in here.

  Jim was in the middle of the room, crying loudly. His cries frightened and shocked Ben. He’d never seen this guy cry, except when they played Taps and did the gun salute at fallen soldiers’ or police funerals. Jim was a former marine, tough as they come. Whatever it was, it was bad to illicit this kind of response from him.

  “Paula!” Jim was sobbing. “Paula, honey!”

  He held his gentle, white-haired wife in his arms. Her eyes were closed and she was limp. She looked at peace. “Paula!” he cried again. “Paula! Oh my God, Ben! Why did we stay? I’ve killed my wife! We should have evacuated when everyone else was!”

  Ben acted quickly and began administering CPR, but Jim had already been doing it for five minutes and told him it was no use. But Ben didn’t stop, determined to heroically save her life. Mandy put her arms around Jim, and they cried together, helplessly watching Ben trying to administer CPR in the still rushing water, which was almost impossible to do without a hard, flat surface. But Ben was well trained in EMT skills and doing his best efforts.

  Mandy was surprised to hear Ben praying out loud, almost angrily: “God, can You give me a little help here? Bring her back!” She hadn’t heard Ben pray in years, but silently she praised God. In the midst of this awfulness, God was doing something very special.

  After a long time of strenuous CPR efforts, Ben gave up when Jim finally stopped him, his big, tan, hairy hand reminding Mandy of a grizzly bear’s paw. His thick, gold wedding ring gleamed in the dark room, and a tear slid down Mandy’s face at his loss. She thanked God that her husband was alive. Somehow she felt comforted being in between these good, strong men. She praised God they’d all survived and these men were with her to help her, and that she wasn’t alone. She wouldn’t know what to do by herself.

  “Enough, Ben. She’s gone. We both tried. My Paula is gone,” Jim said, sobbing again, and kissing her pale, wrinkled cheek. Even the worst he’d seen in Vietnam hadn’t affected him like this. His wife was his rock, his tower of strength. What was he going to do without her, without her prayers and her daily encouragement? What was he going to do without seeing her smiling, beautiful face in the morning over a cup of coffee and buttered toast with her delicious, home-made may haw jam?

  She was a praying woman who prayed daily and deeply for her family, friends, and all those she met. Heaven moved on behalf of her prayers. God heard her voice, Jim knew.

  He’d felt the effects of those prayers many times, even when he was a long way off from God, like in times of battle and during the 10 years of his alcoholism and pain pill drug addiction. Her prayers had set Jim free from a life of bondage, bringing him back to God after years of hard-hearted rebellion. He didn’t stand a chance at times with Paula’s prayers! He grinned, remembering the quote he saw once that said, when this woman’s feet hit the floor in the mornings, the devil and his demons shook, screaming, “Oh crap! She’s up!”

  Paula was petite and pencil-thin, a mere five feet tall, but strong as dynamite. Together Jim and Paula had seen the burial of both their parents, all their siblings, and their own two grown children, which Jim didn’t think he’d ever get through sane. Even in that, Paula trusted in God, saying He was good no matter what.

  It had broken her heart, and she cried rivers of tears over their only children dead in the caskets, but she refused to turn away from God. How could she do that, she’d asked Jim with a reproachful look, while he raged against God for taking their lives. God was everything to her. It was the devil who had killed her babies with cancer and a car wreck from a drunk driver, not God, she’d rebuked Jim. He didn’t know what to say. Her faith was astounding.

  In marriage, they had faced financial hardships, near bankruptcy, medical problems, and two hurricanes together. Nothing seemed to shake her. In fact, what didn’t kill her made her stronger, as the song goes. It was this confidence and a complete lack of fear which Jim admired so much. She should command armies, he thought. She wasn’t afraid of anything.

  “You can let life make you bitter or better. I choose better and to see the good and beautiful blessings every day. We should always count our blessings and have thankful hearts,” she’d always said to him, when he’d gripe, complain, or worry. It would irritate him, but he couldn’t argue with her philosophy, because it worked so evidently in her life. Paula was the picture of God’s grace and light.

  With every passing year, she became more beautiful to him. He
didn’t deserve her. She was such a good woman. But now, for the first time in years, he thanked God for her and that she had stayed faithfully by his side for 49 years. Even when I was unfaithful to her during my porn addiction, he remembered, wincing and ashamed. He asked God again to forgive him for the pain that caused his wife. So much pain for so many things he’d done—and not done. She stayed, no matter what. She always woke up, loving God, him and others, no matter what the previous day had brought.

  Ben put his tan hand on Jim’s shoulder and cried, too. “I’m sorry, man. Jim, I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself. It was just--it was her time.” Mandy agreed, hugging Jim harder and saying what a wonderful woman she was.

  The three of them stood together, crying.

  Suddenly, they heard a shout, and they all jumped. “Dudes! Over here!” It was Andy. Ben whirled around to see his brother, swimming in from the kitchen, and his heart was filled with joy. Thank you, God! My bro is okay!

  “Andy! Oh my gosh, thank goodness you’re okay!” Mandy started to swim to him, but the pain in her head became worse and she leaned against Ben, groaning. He looked over at her worriedly and squeezed her tight, asking if she was okay.

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know. My head just hurts worse. Andy, are you okay?” Mandy winced, touching her head gingerly. He needed to find that duct tape to do a butterfly stitch on her head. Ben leaned her against Jim and swam over to his brother, who was busily pushing debris away from his chest and arms. Ben helped him, relieved that Andy was apparently all right.

  “Was that cray-cray or what? Man, I can’t believe we’re alive!” Andy practically shouted. Then he saw Paula’s limp body floating in the water, with Jim holding onto her still, his head bowed, tears still on his face.

  “Oh no. Man. Jim.” Andy, for once, didn’t know what to say. He stared at her intently. He’d never seen anyone dead in real life. His friend who had been killed in a motorcycle wreck had a closed casket at his funeral. He looked at Paula’s closed eyes and said, “Wow, she looks like she’s sleeping. I hear people say that a lot, but she really does. Real peaceful. Jim, I’m so sorry.”