Waiting On Helene

I've never lived near the coast. Beaches are nice to visit, but I'll leave the sand and seasonal crowds for others. My home is now in Fort Valley, Georgia, a beautiful small town near the center of our great state.

Fort Valley marks the most southeast I've ever lived. Thomaston is the southwest corner. Jasper, sitting at the edge of the North Georgia mountains, is the northwest corner and Lawrenceville is the northeast. Those four corners form an imperfect rectangle (I think my high school geometry teacher would refer to it as a trapezoid) that is about 45-50 miles wide and 100 or so miles long. That's a pretty small area in which to spend my life, and all of it has been at least three hours from the ocean.

So, I'm sitting here at 5 pm on Thursday September 26, 2024 in Fort Valley waiting to ride out my first hurricane. That is not a typo. The weather gurus say that Hurricane Helene is going to smack into the Panhandle of Florida in a few hours and then she's going to roar right through the heart of Georgia. Helene, it seems, is no Sunday driver. She's putting the hammer down and moving fast, which means by the time she barrels into my neck of the woods they think she'll be packing winds strong enough to still officially qualify as a hurricane. She's expected to blow into town a little after midnight, and I'm planning to be awake to welcome her.

And yet, right now, it's a cloudy Fall day in Middle Georgia. Nothing more. We've had rain off and on, some hard but nothing extraordinary. The tops of trees are swaying very gently, indicating a light, comfortable breeze. Looking outside, you'd never suspect a hurricane, or a tropical storm, is in our future. It's really easy to imagine that all the experts are wrong.

But life teaches me that things can change fast, and dramatically. A doctor's diagnosis, an ultimatum from a spouse, the boss telling us the company has to make some cuts. The birth of a child, a job promotion, a new opportunity. Hurricanes, good or bad, can blow in at any moment, sometimes without warning.

That's why we desperately need something solid to which we can anchor our lives. Trouble is, we too often tether ourselves to things that are themselves not permanent. Family is a wonderful thing, but relationships can be the very storm that enters our lives. Or, death comes calling. I still remember how alone I felt in Holly Hill Cemetery when we finished the services for my parents. Hurricane.

Financial security goes up in a puff of smoke when the market takes a dive. Real estate values plunge; interest rates rise. The candidate we were sure couldn't lose has to concede defeat; the politician we trusted gets caught up in scandal. I don't even like to think about it, but there's no promise that even our nation stands the test of time.

Well, there is a Rock. His name is Jesus. He promises to be the same "yesterday, today, and tomorrow." He promises to "never leave or forsake" us. He promises to forgive the unforgivable and to be the Friend we can always trust. And He is the very definition of eternal and everlasting.

I don't know what the next few hours hold. But I know Who is holding me, no matter what old Helene blows my way.

God bless,

Herb Flanders