God Was Near: April 27th, 2011

 

Yesterday marked the three month anniversary of the storm of the century that destroyed so much of Alabama. Only now am I able to write about that day....

I will never forget April 27, 2011. My eyes actually well up with tears as I write the date. Thankfully, I did not lose my home or a family member or even a friend. But the events and after-effects of that day have marked my soul. I am sure this is true for most Alabamians.

I woke up early that morning, home alone while my husband was away on business. I checked my phone and saw that there was a tornado warning for Tuscaloosa, where my two boys are in school. I called my sons to warn them and was able to talk to my oldest son as the storm passed by. I knew the day would be a long one so I decided I'd go back to bed and get some rest.

At 7:00 am my phone rang, jarring me from sleep, and the nightmare began. It was my mother, calling from Guntersville, telling me that they had been hit. They were unable to get out due to the number of trees down but they were okay. I spent an hour or so trying to get help to them and fretted over what to do, finally realizing I could not get anywhere near their house. So I settled in to pray. And to wait.

When I think back, the rest of the day is a blur. I spent most of it huddled in my laundry room with my two cats, completely in the dark, sirens blaring incessantly all around me, praying that my iPhone would work and I'd have some idea what was going on. Darkness and sirens are my two most vivid memories of that day. And fear. Horrible, gut wrenching fear. From about 11:30 am on I did not have power and cell coverage was spotty so I was at the mercy of texts from friends, infrequent phone calls and the occasional glimpse of Twitter (from which I got most of my information). 

But there is one moment that stands out in stark clarity for me from that day. I had huddled once again in that small room, my purse strapped across me, my phone clutched in my hand, sipping a Coke Zero and munching on Triscuits to distract myself. I knew that there were at least two tornadoes somewhere in Madison County but I wasn't sure how close they were. I was getting texts to take cover so I had taken all the precautions I could think of.

Then my son called from Tuscaloosa. "Mom, there's a massive tornado heading right for us. We see it on the computer screen and we're hiding in the hall. I looked and there is one heading for you as well, so get in the closet. I just wanted to say I love you." I felt like my heart would stop beating as I heard the fear in his voice. Daniel lives just blocks south of the University of Alabama campus. I hung up and hurriedly called my older son, who lives on the other side of campus, warning him to take shelter. Then I hung up and tried to pray.

I have spent most of my adult life as a worship pastor. I now travel around the world and teach on the importance of worship in the life of Christians. And I teach one thing over and over again - that when we worship we are declaring the truth about God, about his might and his power. When we worship we remind ourselves of how awesome and mighty God is and we also remind our brothers and sisters in Christ. I believe that as we speak truth, we push back the darkness a little more. And as believers, we are to worship no matter what - in good times, and in bad times, for the truth of who God is never changes. I have said this hundreds of times - "Our circumstances may not be good. People may not be good. But God is always good." And I believe that with all my heart. 

As I sat in that dark, dark closet I felt fear grip my heart in a way I've never known before. Nothing felt good. As a native Alabamian I've ridden out storm after storm and - honestly - have ignored just as many warnings as I've heeded. But crouched in that dark closet with my pillow over my head that day, I was terrified. Not for myself, although an F5 tornado hit within a couple of miles of me that afternoon. I was terrified for my sons. And in that moment in the dark, filled with fear,  I knew that I had to practice what I preach. 

So I began to sing. God brought to mind a song I have not sang in years. I opened my mouth and sang these words,

"Oh Lord you're beautiful. Your face is all I seek. For when your eyes are on this child, your grace abounds to me."

In that dark moment, I needed to remember that God sees us and is with us and that he was with my boys. And although I have had years of vocal training I did not sing with a strong, capable voice. My voice did not ring out with confidence. In fact it shook. I could hardly remember or utter the words. The tune was barely recognizable. And underscoring each every pitchy, weak, desperate note was this prayer - "Lord have mercy on us."

I said it again and again. "Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy." It was the only thing I could think to pray. Words failed me. My mind was jumbled. Coherent thoughts fled. And after a few moments another song came to mind, one that many of us have sang since we were children. Our parents have sung it. Our grandparents as well. And so I lifted my voice to sing these familiar words,

"Then sings my soul, my Savior God to thee. How great thou art, how great thou art!....."

My shaky, tear filled voice filled that little dark room. I did not sing well, but I raised my voice trying to drown out the sound of the sirens and the wind and rain - crying out to the One who calms the storm.

A few minutes later both of my sons called - they were safe but were surrounded by utter destruction. There was both relief and despair in their voices. They were in shock. I wanted so badly to hold and comfort my family - all of them - who had so narrowly escaped the unrelenting fury of these storms. Instead I sat alone, wondering what destruction lay outside the boundaries of my apartment complex. Missing my family. Wishing I was not alone. 

That evening, for some unknown reason, my phone worked again for a few minutes. Sitting in my bed in the darkness lit only by a few candles I saw for the first time a video of the Tuscaloosa tornado on my tiny iPhone screen. I watched in stunned disbelief as it carved a path through a city that I love, within yards of my sons. I began to shake and cry as the realization of what had happened sank in just a bit. I felt compelled to get out of my bed and fall on my face on the floor and cry out to God again. This time I prayed thanking God for sparing the lives of my children. I wept out of gratefulness and relief and at the same time I wept in grief because so many were facing the very darkness I had been spared. My heart felt torn in two. I cried for friends and neighbors and strangers all across my beloved state that had experienced tragic loss that day. I cried for all of us and wondered if we'd ever, ever be the same.

And as I lay in bed that night with my windows open to the breeze I imagined again and again that I heard a siren. After the chaos of the day, the silence was very loud. But in that silence I felt the first whisper of peace. And hope. 

I realized that God was not absent in the storms. He was not far away. I was not alone. He was with us. In the dark places he was there. Amid the fear he was our peace. In our grief he was our comfort. He had not left us to walk alone. He is with us as Emmanuel, God With Us in a vivid and real way. This the wonder of the Savior, Jesus Christ - that God entered the dark despair of this world to save us.

All across the south we felt the truth of this promise: "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, he rescues those whose spirits are crushed." (Psalm 34:18) This is what I felt that day in that dark closet. God was near. 

 

Comments

[klampert]

WOW jan... what an amazing story.. such a great testimony that you sang praises during all of that.

[Tomcottar]

Thanks for sharing, Jan. Sometimes the heart cries out in ways the lips can't compete with.

God is near indeed...

[Robert Comeaux]

I love your honest words from a fellow worship leader. I love that you said your voice was shaky and you didn't have the usual confidence that you call on people to sing with every week. I can so relate to that in the scary moments and also in the intimate times at home with my family. It's not about how we sound, but who we're singing to. I guess that's always the way it should be. Thank you for taking the time to write this reflection.