It began with the Orlando weather forecaster’s ominous hurricane warning.  “Prepare for the storm of the century! Never before have winds been potentially so catastrophic!”

My husband Peter and I flew into a tizzy of activity. We bagged up debris and piled sandbags. We prepared our refrigerator and cleared our porch and yard of anything and everything that could become missiles.

Did the Lord want us to stay and help others after the storm passes? Or should we leave?

When my brother’s family invited us to shelter with them in North Carolina, that settled it. We threw together our necessities, nestled our seven-pound poodle in the backseat, and headed north. 

Our first stop was at our friends’ home in Savannah where we were replenished with laughter and deep conversation. Then we found out that my brother’s cats in North Carolina had a virus our dog could catch. We needed a Plan B of where to stay. But where? I suddenly remembered our friend’s lake house on Lake Wateree, South Carolina.  A quick phone call revealed that it was available for the three days we needed it.

When we opened the lake house door, I was caught off guard by an unexpected rush of God’s presence. The owners dedicated this place to the Lord’s glory, and He has made Himself at home.

Plus the wall hangings, the furniture, and even the dishes stood frozen in time. So instead of being immersed in disturbing news of the upcoming storm, my thoughts traveled back to many family vacations our friends allowed us to take at this sacred place:

shadows of me as a young, harried mother trying to prevent our toddler from tumbling down the back porch steps

the smell of popcorn as I read missionary adventures to our elementary-age children

the boys, proudly holding up the catfish they caught

our youngest child squatting at the rugged shore, filling seashells with sand as her pretend “beauty mud”

Pulling myself back to the present, I skirted up the wood-paneled winding stairway to the front bedroom. How could I have forgotten the sweet moments I spent with Jesus on the second-floor balcony? In days gone by, I would often wake up just before dawn and God would share His sunrise with me.

Then the thought hit me like a bombshell. Did God also affectionately remember those early mornings together?

I remembered how we recently rented a house for a reunion with our four children and seven grandchildren. We hoped that if everyone was away from the busyness back home, we could just enjoy being together, not distracted and pulled in our separate directions.

Did my Heavenly Father feel this way about me, as His dearly loved daughter?

I was floored by the thought that the Lord treasured undistracted visits with me in the same way I value time with my family. Had He brought me to the lake house because He missed our special times?

I am a doer. Sometimes I stir up my own self-made hurricanes then struggle to survive the winds of busyness. I tend to assume God is on the lookout for more work for me to do. But sometimes His greatest desire is to take me away from rescuing the world, just to be still with Him.

So that’s what I did. For three glorious days.

At the Todds’ lake house, there are no clocks, just unmeasured time. The long dock led my husband Peter out of his flurry of to-do lists to a place where time is marked by when the last nibble on your worm was. I spent my days reading and admiring Peter’s increasingly larger catches. We ate when we felt hungry and listened to crickets at night while we gawked at the panorama of stars splattered across the black sky.

While time stood still, Milton made landfall. I in no way want to minimize the tragic impact this hurricane had on countless others. But for us, it did little damage to our home. It was far less than the storm of the century, and I suspect prayer had something to do with it.

This peaceful interlude from our loving Father passed far too quickly, and soon we gathered our belongings and little poodle at the back door. We gazed around the room once more and sensed the overwhelming, tender love of God. Peter and I joined hands and sang the doxology together. Tears of gratitude unexpectedly slipped down my cheeks.

As we approached the church at the last fork in the country road, it was as if God had left us a final reminder on the billboard, which read, “Time Spent With God is a Blessing.”

It took a category five hurricane for Him to get me there. Thank you, Hurricane Milton.

What was your experience with bad weather this year? How did God show up in the midst of a storm in your life?