Its 7:30 in the morning. I am doing what I love to do when out of town…I am enjoying my coffee and a beautiful view of nature. Our family is staying with my mom and stepdad in West Jefferson, NC. They live in a two story condominium in a on a lovely golf course in the mountains.  My family of four and our day are occupying their basement.

Life is idyllic here in this moment, but let me share with you the unhappy circumstances that brought us here. We live in Wilmington, NC, which seems to be a magnet for hurricanes. I don’t understand the meteorology behind it, but suffice it to say, when Brian and I hunted for apartments there in 1996, the city was preparing for a hurricane. That should have alerted us to what would come.

Sometimes we decided to stay home and ride out the storms, and sometimes we evacuate. When the National Hurricane Center was forecasting Florence to be a Category 5, which is a catastrophic storm, we decided to leave. We boarded up the windows, brought my garden art inside, and packed our suitcases. I walked through the houses, gathering a few boxes of precious belongings in case the house was not standing when we returned.

The family Bibles.
My mother’s jewelry.
A wedding picture.
Hannah’s journals. 
Greg’s musical equipment.
And of course, a few of my favorite clothes and jewelry.

It took us an hour just to get out of town, but the trip to the mountains of western North Carolina was mostly uneventful. We took our dog, Coco, our son Greg, and our daughter Hannah would join us after evacuating from ECU. We arrived at our destination around 11 pm, exhausted, emotional, and frazzled, but we were safe. The things that we cared for most – each other – were intact.

My heart was thankful, but also in turmoil. There were so many unknowns. I had friends scattered from Florida to Pennsylvania to Texas. Some of my friends had chosen to stay. Watching the Weather Channel 24/7 and all of the dire predictions of calamity was not helping my anxiety level.  The word “catastrophic” seemed to be repeated over and over and over.  The images of “storm surge” were terrifying.

I was afraid.

The next morning, I gathered my coffee and went outside. Enjoying coffee on a golf course in the mountains is about as good as it gets. I offered thanks to God, but also offered to Him my extremely anxious heart.

I stared out over the golf course, which was flanked in a misty fog. All I could see were trees and low-lying clouds. I looked across the course, and past the cow pasture, because I knew that something important loomed in the distance. There was something within my view that was obscured by the mist.

Mount Jefferson. It is about 5000 feet about sea level, and towers about 1500 feet over the town of Jefferson, its namesake. You can see Mount Jefferson for miles around.

As I looked straight ahead at the cloud, I heard the Lord remind me, “There’s a mountain behind that cloud.” At the moment, all I could see was fog. My personal fog was fear, confusion, and worry. Dire predictions and concern for loved ones and wondering about the security of our beloved home.

But behind the fog – behind all of the frenzy surrounding Hurricane Florence – there stood a tall mountain. I could not see it, but it was still there. In the midst of chaos, there was a refuge. During times of uncertainty, there was security. When my heart wanted to despair, there was a stability.

There was a mountain behind that cloud. God was there. I couldn’t see Him through the lingering mist, but He was still there. He hadn’t changed. He was still secure. He was still stable.

He was still a refuge.

All I had to do was quiet my mind and shut my eyes and remember the view. I recalled His faithfulness. I recounted His goodness. I remembered His promises. I couldn’t not see Him at the moment, but I reminded my soul of His presence.

Lord, you have been our refuge in every generation. Before the mountains were born, before you gave birth to the world, from eternity to eternity, You are God. Psalm 90:1-2

It’s a struggle to fix your faith on God in the midst of the presence of danger, the potential for great loss, and the constant news that stirs up the pot. But keep your eyes fixed on God. Because even though you can’t see Him, there is a mountain behind the cloud. Remember that.

As I prepare this post to go live on my blog, the eyewall of Hurricane Florence is moving across Wilmington.  But God.

No matter where you are – far away from danger, safely staying with a relative, in the middle of the storm – God is there. He has not changed. Place your hope in Him as we all long for  the quiet after the storm.

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