Milton & Me
The hurricane tracker was my friend for a couple of weeks as I plotted my course south, dodging two monster hurricanes. Helene struck the week I was prepared to leave; Milton formed the week I left—thinking I had plenty of time. Then the phone pinged.
Milton had formed and was pointed to Tampa, on Florida’s west coast. I was in New York at the time, planning to leave Sunday at sun-up. My hosts urged me to stay. I contacted two friends I planned to visit along the way, and they both offered to host me longer if necessary. If anything, the last day of the trip might be problematic, but I could always cancel my second visit.
Decision time. Should I stay or should I go?
I consulted the Lord for wisdom. After a restless night, I woke refreshed, with one phrase in my spirit: “I lead you beside still waters.” You may recognize the line from Psalm 23.
The peace of the Lord blanketed me. Uncertainly morphed into confidence that the trip would be fine.
Off I went.
Decisions, Decisions
First stop: Richmond VA. The trip was uneventful—bright, sunny, and dry. I made excellent time, except for the infamous Washington congestion. Several horrific car accidents contributed to that congestion, and I was nervous driving in heavy traffic with a loaded car.
And then, a second phrase came as I crept past the wrecks: “Though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil.”
I made it to Richmond and grabbed a hotel. After watching the evening news and r checking alerts filling my hurricane tracker, anxiety crept back. Milton was proving to be a speed demon.
North Carolina was up next and I was headed to Raleigh. I checked the updates and new alerts. Reports were conflicting and confusing. The warnings sounded dire and urgent, but Milton was still two or three days away. I had a two-day drive but flood warnings along my route could be an issue. Hmmm…
One mile at a time, I told myself, and updated my friend in North Carolina. I set out with prayers and a reminder, "He leads me beside still waters."
By lunchtime, I had passed the flood zones and could probably easily reach Savannah by dinnertime. Traffic was light and the sunny, dry weather conditions made for smooth sailing. I decided to cancel my first visit and press on.
Sailing through North and South Carolina, I was an hour from Savannah when the first hurricane warning pinged. What?! We were still two days from the predicted landfall. I stopped to find a hotel, with a bit of difficulty—I hadn’t factored in the exodus from Florida. Oops.
I was six hours to home, about 48 hours from landfall. Should I ride out the storm in Savannah, or head for Jacksonville to shelter with another friend? Or wake early and head for home? If traffic conditions remained this easy . . . but I wouldn’t know that in advance.
Lord, let me know what to do.
The home Stretch
I woke at 5 a.m., and the word came, “Go.” I bolted.
If you saw the screenshot of the weather app I posted, you may be thinking, “Are you crazy?!” I was asking myself the same question!
But I’ve seen those maps before, and I still had an open invitation to shelter in Jacksonville. Instead, I hurtled down I-95 in a pack of trucks and traffic. You’d never know a hurricane was coming. This is how we roll in Florida.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me.
The app was a cacophony of warnings as I crossed the state line under sunny skies, in a line of utility trucks. A downpour in Jacksonville scared me, but it only lasted minutes.
In Daytona Beach, I stopped for food, gas, and a bio break. The skies lowered, and a light sprinkle fell. More warnings followed, and the occasional spray became a steady drizzle. I might have been white-knuckling it.
Near Orlando, I saw a funnel form over my head, whipping horizontally.
In Port St. Lucie, I knew I was home free. I began reviewing hurricane preps. The house was already shuttered up. I’d need some groceries—could I manage a quick stop, and unloading the car, before the skies erupted?
Yes, with a light rain. Thank you, Lord!
Home!
With 36 hours to spare. I felt like cheering, but I had work to do—the wind was whipping and the groceries and car needed unloading. But home rarely looked so good.
Sometimes it only takes a word from the Lord to help you make decisions. I’m mindful of the many who have a different story. Lord, have mercy.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
You make me lie down in green pastures,
you lead me beside quiet waters,
you refresh my soul.
—Psalm 20:5.