Great sheets of pelting rain cover the glass. Windshield wipers are no match for the monstrous torrent of rain that floods the highway, forcing many drivers off the road in fear. It’s an early evening in July-monsoon season in Florida.
My husband, Robby, is squinting at the glass in front of him, wearing a worried look; while our two young daughters play with Barbies in the back of our Chevy Astro van.
“It doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon,” Robby announces. “I never thought that I would say that I’ll be glad to get home from vacation.”
“Can you even see the road in front of you?” I hide my eyes with my hands.
“Barely,” he mutters. “This is a force to be reckoned with.”
I feel like I may soon experience my first full-blown panic attack. I’m somewhat relieved when I see the George Washington Tunnel to Mobile, Alabama, approaching.
“I’m sorry sir,” the officer informs Robby. “There is no passage allowed through the tunnel until this storm passes. You’ll have to turn around.”
“What? Why?” Robby asks, desperation evident in his voice.
“There is a hurricane brewing in the Gulf. Haven’t you heard?”
“Uh, no; but what are we supposed to do?” His voice quavers and I”m close to tears by now.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you will have to turn around. If I were you, I would find a place to hunker down for the night,” the officer suggests gently. “You and your family are not safe on the road.”
By now the girls have abandoned their game and want to know what is going on.
“Looks like we’re spending the night in Pensacola.” I inform them dismally. My mother is expecting us home and will be concerned.
We check with three hotels off of Interstate 10 and are politely rejected—-no room in the inn? Cranky, whining children along with tired and hungry adults drive us to the Bates Motel. It’s actually called the Sleep Tight Motel but it looks more like a place where the bed bugs bite, if not a place for murder.
After checking in and purchasing candy and chips from a vending machine, since all restaurants in the area closed due to the storm, we watch the news on the television in our room. It looks like Hurricane Danny is ravaging south Louisiana and is heading our way.
I calm my daughters while Robby helps the motel manager and other men place sand bags around the property. A college lacrosse team is next door and we hear loud music and shouting. They knock at our door and invite us to their rowdy hurricane party. The last thing I want to do is party tonight!
I phone my mother. “Hey Mom, it’s me, Noella,” I start but my mom interrupts me.
“Oh my, the hurricane is heading for Lake Charles now.” Her voice is shaky. “I hope your brother is safe.” She’s worried about both of us. “Where are you?”
I’m telling her that we are stuck in Pensacola when all of a sudden the television goes black, the lights blink once and disappear and the motel phone disconnects at the same time. My daughters gasp and whimper timidly, clinging to each other.
We are stunned by this sudden stillness. It’s too quietthe eye of the storm.
“Let’s just get in this king size bed and go to sleep,” I suggest. “I believe that God is our protector and we are in His hands. No matter what happens next, we are all together and we will be alright.”
Bobby croons assuredly as we fall asleep. “He will never leave you in the storm. He will calm your wind and soothe your soul. You will overcome the wind as you gaze into the rain, as you face the hurricane, God will go.”
I awake to the television blaring, the room flooded with light. I open my eyes and praise the Lord for His shelter in the storm. Then I call my mom.
“He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. (Mark 4:30 NIV) Once again, Jesus calmed the storm. True Story