The winds of Hurricane Irene whistled outside as I read the Psalms and scriptures of morning prayer. Would the Spirit come to me on such a morning? Could there be inspiration in such a storm?
Patti, the love of my life, and my wife of forty years, stood at the window, anxious concern on her face. “The rocks will not hold!” she said.
She was referring to the rocks holding down the tarps on top of the industrial waste bin sitting in our driveway. The industrial container was filled to overflowing with old stuff from garage and basement that now could easily become dangerous debris filling the air – menacing missiles flying around our neighborhood in the winds of a powerful tropical storm.
Patti asked if there were any way we could tie the tarps down. Moments later I was out in the storm rope in hand.
All around me branches were cracking and falling from the trees in the screaming winds. The rain fell from the skies in torrents now driven into horizontal sheets by the raging gales. In moments I was soaked through and through, but I stayed on task though pelted without pause by racing wind and rain. I was doing it for Patti. I was doing it for love. It was love that moved through me, fueled my strength, and overcame my fear.
Even while I was tying down the tarps, I thought back to another moment where I had felt the strength of such love. It was while I was carrying my two year old son Patrick up Mt. Washington. We were at five thousand feet and raging winds had suddenly come upon us. Defying all predictions, the winds of Hurricane Dean had slammed into the state of New Hampshire, and we were without advance notice in the midst of the tempest.
Despite the fierce wind and rain, and the struggle of the steep mountain climb, I reached the summit where shelter and warmth awaited me and my son. I remember the power that came over me when Patrick said, “Da Da, cold, DaDa, cold!” At that time too, it was love that moved through me and fueled my strength. Nothing could have stopped me from saving my son.
The tarp was tied down. I headed back to the warmth and safety of my home. I suddenly thought of the cross of Jesus. It was love that moved through Him and fueled His strength. He endured the terror of the Passion for love of me, of us - all of us. Nothing could have stopped Him from taking us to shelter, home, and heaven in the Father’s House.
