Helene was Here

 
I live in the Midlands of South Carolina. I'm a hundred and fifty miles from the coast, and while hurricane season news is usually somewhere in my peripheral vision, I don't normally give it a lot of thought. I know some people love coastal living, but I am more than  content with my land-locked location in a cozy town that's a few hours from the beach, the mountains, and several tourist-y larger cities.

The catastrophic arrival of Hurricane Hugo in 1989, my sophomore year of college, will forever be etched in my mind. At the time, I was far inland in Spartanburg, SC. Still I recall it as the most frightening storm I have experienced. I remember the wails of the women who hailed from the coast as they awaited news of the fate of their homes and loved ones. I remember newspapers full of breathtakingly devastating photos - marinas full of boats that looked like they had been swept up like tiny toys with a broom, endless miles of once-magnificent coastal dwellings shattered into piles of matchsticks. In my lifetime, I have not experienced any other reminder so profound of how miniscule and delicate are humans and our works compared to the immense power of God's natural world.

Perhaps due to trauma from Hugo for those of us old enough to remember, or maybe just the human inclination to expect the worst or over-dramatize, people seem to be continuously waiting for the next similar event. Breathless newsreaders have been reporting on "the next Hugo," or even "Hugo and beyond!" a few times a year, and while serious events have occurred, nothing equivalent to Hugo has yet materialized. The trend of sensationalizing, coupled with the fact that weather prediction is an inexact science, has made some of us numb to these reports. Last month, local schools were shut down for three days in anticipation of Hurricane Debby, which brought nothing more than light rain and even had kids home for a few days during which the weather was actually mild and pleasant. So when I heard small talk about Hurricane Helene, it honestly didn't register much in my mind. I went about my normal routine with no concern.

Well, Helene was no Hugo, at least not in my area, but it was indeed a serious storm. Dozens of deaths have been reported and millions in the Southeast have been left without power. Even in my town at a safe distance from the coast, tens of thousands are still, three days later, waiting for their power to be restored. Street lights are out, driving routes are blocked by fallen trees, grocery selections are sparse and many gas stations' tanks are empty.

Most people in my area have experienced major inconveniences, but only a few people I know have suffered anything that could be considered calamitous. While praying for those who have lost loved ones and homes, we simultaneously curse the days of lessened comfort in our dark homes without air conditioning, microwaves or the internet. We miss warm food and hot showers. We worry about our friends and family who we are no longer able to contact with the simple tap of their name the screen of a handy device. We cannot even exit our neighborhood to check on others because a huge tree has fallen across the road. 

Minor discomforts are manageable. More disconcerting is the realization of how dependent we are on modern conveniences and infrastructure that are extremely fragile. How far removed we are from the experience of most humans in history, for whom these sorts of discomforts and difficulties were normal and expected!

The aftermath of the storm also brings a reminder of the randomness of tragedy. Based on which tree toppled in which direction, people on one side of a street maintain complete normalcy, while people on the other side sit in dark discomfort for days - or even lose their lives.

The days since Helene passed through my town have been lovely, bright and clear. The streets were quickly filled with kids playing in the sunny streets and motorists running errands, navigating intersections without traffic lights the best they could. As I drove through neighborhoods, I observed small groups of people occupied in their yards, wielding chainsaws and carting off yard debris with wheelbarrows. All over town, men on roadsides in cherry pickers industriously tended to downed and damaged power lines and poles. It was heartening to see people's quick, energetic efforts to restore order and normalcy.

Yet it is not normal yet, and we don't know when it will be. I'll count my blessings that my loved ones were not dramatically affected, and remember to be grateful for the mercy of an unfathomably powerful Lord.