A Light for My Path

The last two weeks I’ve talked about a hurricane and subsequent flood that we experienced in September of 2017. It was just five months after our younger daughter died in a car accident. Our 30-year-old, newlywed, moving-up-in-her-career, headstrong, sarcastic, kind-hearted, Jesus-loving daughter whose future we were looking forward to sharing. It felt like God was pouring salt on our wounds. I wasn’t sure if I could keep going.

And, yet here we are seven years later. Older, grayer, not as fit. But, better.

True, I am profoundly changed by losing one of my children. Outliving my child is not the natural order of the world. Some of my negative qualities have been exaggerated by grief and loss. I am more of a worrywart and an obsessive planner than ever. If I don’t write things down right away, I forget them because my mind is over-filled with minor issues and world-changing philosophical questions that I will never be able to answer.

But, I am also more understanding of others’ faults and forgetfulness. Because, I don’t know what challenges they are dealing with. I have more patience with my grandchildren when they want to tell me the unedited version of their current all-time favorite movie. Or wade in a creek for an hour with a new-found friend on vacation.

And, I have met so many other grieving people who have profound things to say about God’s grace and mercy even in the midst of tragedies too sad to recount here.

Oh, I would give anything to have learned these lessons another way. To have my daughter back.

But, I can’t. And, I don’t think God took my daughter away from me (and her husband, and her father, and her siblings, and everyone else who loved her) in order to punish us. I do believe He comforts us in our grief by pointing out the small and large things in this life that are sweet and meaningful and profound and fleeting and eternal.

So, seven years later my husband and I are both retired from our corporate jobs. We are living fulltime at our river house. We still love our nosy, sarcastic, opinionated, caring, capable, and tender-hearted, salt-of-the-earth neighbors. Some of whom have passed on. And some of whom are relatively new here.

And, as I write this, we have just survived yet another hurricane. Thankfully one not nearly as strong and destructive as in 2017. We have a better generator now. One that not only keeps the lights on, but can support the AC and well pump. We don’t have to keep jugs of water available to flush with.

And, for the past three days I have been watching the river rise. The same natural forces of too much rain in a short time pouring into the Suwannee River basin, preventing our little river from emptying its spring-fed contents into the Suwannee fast enough. So, the water has nowhere else to go than over the banks into whatever land borders those banks. Including our property.

But, another lesson I’ve learned is trust.

I’ve learned that hydrologists and meteorologists are pretty darn good about predicting storms and floods. I can trust their predictions. I’ve learned that good neighbors will keep an eye out for each other whether you ask them to or not. I can trust that their nosiness is well meant. I’ve learned that caring, competent vets will tell you it’s time to say goodbye to your aging pet. And, I trust them to ease her out of my hands into God’s in the kindest way possible.

And, I trust that whatever happens as a result of this flood, or a future hurricane, or a freak blizzard that dumps six feet of snow in Miami in July, God is in control. And, with His help I’ll be able to weather the storm.

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Laura