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| Nanny Cay, Tortola, BVI September 19, 1989 |
Each summer when news arrives of the first hurricane developing, my mind is immediately tossed back into the turbulence of Hurricane Hugo. This being the thirty-fifth anniversary, it seems an appropriate time to share my memories. You see, I've never been so literally in the eye of a storm as I was in 1989. I had moved to the island of Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands, a mere two weeks before this historic maelstrom brewing far out in the mid- Atlantic quickly made its way to my new home.
I had learned the day before I flew from the United States, September 1, 1989, that the second-floor downtown apartment I had rented for six months was not going to be vacated until a month later than expected. But having bought my ticket and sublet my U.S. home, I made the quick decision to go ahead and take my flight and "wing it" (so to speak) as far as accommodations were concerned. I was familiar enough with the island, and had a few friends there, so my adventuresome spirit was not daunted by the unforeseen glitch in plans. You see, I was in my default setting of fleeing an uncomfortable situation at home, and I was blind to any other way out. But then, I wasn't paying much heed to the God I had given my heart to at a young age. I had been going my own way for quite some time.
Some would say it was blind luck that led me to decide to stay at the Fort Burt Hotel until my apartment was ready. Actually, when I stopped in for a look while beginning to get more acquainted with my new island home, the manager learned I was a travel journalist and offered me a free room in hopes of getting some publicity in exchange. I had been happily settled in and exploring the island in depth, when the news of a brewing major hurricane had everyone's ears perked up, and we all became more watchful as the track seemed to grow closer to our tiny island.
As it turned out, an eclectic assortment of sailors, fishermen, the manager, and myself (thirteen of us!) ended up sheltering in the base of one of the two remaining stone turrets of the ancient fort. This tower had become the hotel's restaurant, while the rooms had been built along the hillside above it.
Along with this one, an outer tower alongside and nearer the water's edge had formed the entryway to the fortress. Our motley group had been shepherded into the lower storage room beneath the restaurant. When the rains came and the winds blew horizontally, however, nearly every inch of that dungeon-like shelter became saturated with the water that blew down through the floor of the restaurant above, in through cracks in the ancient stone walls, and underneath the heavy iron door that kept out the vicious wind. For approximately twenty-four hours we hunkered down, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes laughing, sometimes listening in silence to the wind and pounding rain. Throughout the night, we often clung through a battery-powered radio to the voice of brave DJ Erasmus at ZBVI, operating by a generator, as power had been cut off all over the island for safety. He alternately played music and took calls, keeping families in touch, sharing damage reports throughout the island, and even broadcasting one woman's prayer for our safety.
After several hours confined in this space, one couple in our group took a break and ventured out across the breezeway to stretch out on some tables that were being stored in the outer tower. I can't say how long they stayed, only that moments after they returned to our flock, we all gasped with one breath when our low murmurings were shattered by a huge "BANG!" nearby. It wasn't until the storm abated and we ventured outside that we discovered the enormous wooden doors of that second tower had imploded and landed right on top of the tables that couple had been lying on. It was then I began to acknowledge that that islander's prayer, along with many others silently uttered, had been answered. On a drive to survey the damage the next day, I saw a hillside home made entirely of glass turned to a pile of rubble. It had been inhabited by two young British women who had wisely sheltered in a safer place.
Everyone who took refuge in the strong tower of Fort Burt, in fact everyone on the island of Tortola remained safe throughout Hurricane Hugo, which was truly remarkable considering it was a rare Category 5 hurricane with winds approaching 200 mph, and we suffered a direct hit and much property damage. In my journal of the experience, I at least acknowledged God's providence for the tools of my trade at that time: my computer, printer, and paper had been graciously placed by the hotel's manager in what would end up being the last dry spot in our sanctuary.
Of course, I know now that none of this happened by accident, but rather by the design of my Good, Good Father. As I was stumbling blindly out of my discomfort into danger and then to safety, He already knew I'd be safe. As my favorite Psalm reminds me,
"You chart the path ahead of me and tell me where to stop and rest.
Every moment You know where I am....
I can never escape from Your Spirit!...
If I ride the wings of the morning,
if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there Your hand will guide me, and Your strength will support me...."
[Psalm 139: 3, 7a, 9-10 NLT]
And today, as very different kinds of storms arise in my life, I must constantly remind myself of my many experiences of this truth:
"For you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the foe."
[Psalm 61:3 NIV]
My friend, our lives on earth are fraught with trials and "hurricanes"-- no one is exempt. Whether your storm be illness, a great loss, family struggles, financial woes, or our shared distress over the state of the world we live in, let us never forget that if we trust in the one true Triune God,
"The name of the LORD is a fortified tower; the righteous run to it and are safe."
[Proverbs 18:10 NIV]
"He must increase and I must decrease."
John 3:30
✝️
