This has been a difficult week. When the wheels of our plane touched the ground on St. Croix last Monday, the passengers broke into applause. It was a plane load full of people just like us. People who love and live on the island, but who had been away for the hurricanes. The lady in the seat beside me showed me pictures she’d been sent showing the half of her house that had been destroyed – she was going home to put the pieces back together. Our neighbor, William, picked us up from an airport without all of its roof. Since it was mid-afternoon, we took the long way home and we saw for the first time the evidence of the power of a cat five hurricane.
Though I have owned a home on this island for six years, there were several times on our drive home that I couldn’t recognize where we were. It looks that different, a barren war zone. Driving is a challenge – you have to keep an eye out above you for low branches and power lines, beside you for branches and trees sticking out in the way and side of roads that are undercut by water and dangerous to drive on, as well as for traffic.
I am thankful to say that our house itself is actually fine. (We do have some other damage, and I’ll blog about that another day… THAT story is still unfolding and needs prayer…) The damage the house sustained is easily and quite economically fixable – one small roof section that was over the patio missing, a little water on the ceiling of our bedroom, the eight foot sliding glass doors that stood behind the hurricane shutters pushed in a bit. There are lots of broken limbs and trees down outside we’ve had to deal with. But. We’ve just begun meeting friends and hearing reports of roofs and walls gone, of water damage. Worse are the stories of hunkering down for the twelve hours of the storm, listening to the house groan and give with the terrible wind and pressures outside. As we’ve found our way to the store and the post office this week, we see cars driving on the roads with no windshields, or any glass at all. Karl’s pickup has a broken rearview mirror. Maria ripped off his front license plate, but I found it in the yard among some debris. My Jeep had water in the back, but it’s a Jeep, it didn’t mind. We were so lucky.
Everyone is shell shocked. Maybe the worse damage is in the hearts and minds of the people here. People are trying to smile and be patient, though it’s clear that just accomplishing that isn’t easy. Communications are virtually non-existent. My phone works for voice and text most of the time, but there’s no internet even on my phone. ( I am writng this with the intent to drive about three miles to a place reported to have an active WiFi hotspot so I can post it, we’ll see how that works!) I think there might be a radio station working, but since we are on the west end of the island behind a hill, we can’t tune it in. No one knows even essential info. I went to the post office at 9:15 thinking it would be open when curfew lifted at 9. Not so, it didn’t open until 11. I stood in line with strangers with haggard faces , listening to stories and watching them try to be patient.
The rumble of generators has replaced all other sound, and the low growl of the combined force creates a low grade of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Many don’t have generators, and they are cooking outside even though it has been raining off and on every day still. They are living by candle light. We, like many, have a small generator that doesn’t power the whole house, just the essentials and not 24/7. We run it for three hours in the morning to keep the frig cold and run the water pump. We turn it back on for maybe three to four hours in the late afternoon and evening to renew the frig, take showers (by flashlight! really!) and have some semblance of normality, even while I have to take a flashlight to the bathroom with me.
Yesterday was Sunday. There were only a few people at church since getting around its still so hard. Hearing from our friends about missing roofs, collapsed walls, no water to drink but plenty of water damage made me feel thankful and guilty. We sang acapella praises to God, through tears and smiles. The sermon was a short one – since there are no lights and no AC and people just can’t handle more – and it was about God’s comfort. Right now my head knows that God is the God of all Comfort, but my heart is bruised and hurting for myself, and my friends and our island home and I’m not sure where to find Him.
Even though I feel overwhelmed, through it all, I know that God is good all the time. Evidence of that is as plentiful as the destruction. It is amazing how quickly the leaves are sprouting out on barren tree branches. We can’t help but be encouraged by the groups of strong and positive people f who’ve come far away to replace light poles and cut up and cart off the millions of tons of debris. Armstrong’s Ice Cream – the very best ice cream on the planet – reopened on Wednesday and we had ice cream yesterday. We go outside at night and revel in the stars that we can see since there’s so little light pollution. Life here is good… even though it is hard right now.
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