I am enjoying the strong breeze (AKA upper edge of Hurricane Ida winds) and watching critters from my deck.
I have felt just a few random raindrops in the past hour, and the temperature is perfect.
Black ants, lizards, red wasps, spiders, dragon flies, squirrels and tree frogs are all going about their daily routines.
We are surrounded by tall oaks and pines at our double-wide-by-the-lake — and some freakishly tall pink banana plants — and by tomorrow evening some of these trees may no longer be standing. We may have downed power lines, a flooded yard, and no power.
It’s OK.
I’m writing this on Sunday afternoon, 16 years to the day after Hurricane Katrina did so much damage, claimed lives and changed others forever. We were in Southwest Mississippi when she stormed up into Mississippi, too. We only lost a tree, a dog fence, a trampoline and a few shingles.
We were blessed.
We had moved from East New Orleans four years prior, but we had many friends who lost nearly everything. Our former residence was on the news, water a foot from the ceiling.
A couple of years after the storm, we saw an IMAX film that started as a blues documentary in NOLA but quickly changed direction as Katrina hit. We didn’t realize what the film was really about, and as I saw footage of our former neighborhood and familiar loved places, I realized I was crying. I glanced at my wife and saw her wiping away tears, too.
The wound we felt was still raw, our grief more for our friends who returned to nothing, or chose not to go back at all.
It is quite possible that Ida will follow in Katrina’s steps, leaving devastation in her wake. But it is also possible that it will die down quickly and we will be grateful we missed a worse scenario.
Only God knows right now, and He isn’t worried.
Nothing, absolutely nothing surprises God.
I’m a worrier, but I have peace about this.
I have anxiety, but not about this.
No tears over this have been shed.
I have cast my cares on God, because He cares for us.
And that, my friends, does bring a tear of joy and thankfulness to my eyes.
Brett Campbell can be reached at ChunkyBrett@mail.com.
