by Theresa Corbley Siller
I wondered if Jesus could hear me over the deafening roar of the almost Category-5,
pounding wind gusts. I was praying frantically while Hurricane Ian removed half of our mobile
home, like an angry toddler hurling a lego wall across the room. My husband and I watched the
action from the window, front row seats to Dorothy’s tornado in Wizard of Oz: “There goes our
carport, screen porch and patio!” “Isn’t that the Bakers’ bay window rolling across our yard?”
“Whoa, Lordy. I think that’s the Patterson’s roof on our driveway. Poor Mr. Patterson. Did it
smash the car?”
I implored, “Dear Jesus, can you please allow us to keep our metal office roof, so our home won’t flood?” (The office inside-ceiling was sodden and now collapsed on the floor). Bang, bang, bang, shudder, convulse, quake. I even phone-video-ed my plea, concluding with a shot of Jesus’ cross, miraculously still hanging on the wall. We felt like we were in a kid’s playhouse, and bullies were tipping it over from the outside.
How apropos yet challenging, Psalm 16:8 was to this moment. “I keep my eyes always on the Lord. With Him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” I grabbed God’s hand and held on tight.
I know, I know, my husband and I are crazy Floridians to try and hunker down in a mobile home during a hurricane! We’d been through two of them already; how hard could this one be? The secure clubhouse building a half block away in our park, was available for anyone who chose not to evacuate. We figured we’d see how it went-we could always wear our bike helmets and sprint over there. Definitely an ill-advised decision…At a half hour in, it was too dangerous to go anywhere.
We ended up in our narrow hallway, with couch pillows on our heads, petrified looks on our faces, and clinging together for comfort.
As we listened to our battery-operated radio/flashlight, we learned quickly that this severe storm was a slow-moving, deadly monster.
As Ian’s cruel performance wore on, we heard the newscasters report that both Sanibel and Pine Island’s only bridges were broken. Whoever had stayed on those islands was stranded. That mean storm also took the Caloosahatchee River, in downtown Ft. Myers, and thrust it right into building lobbies. I had worked at one of those ruined venues, FL Repertory Theatre, and five feet of water tsunami-ed inside, leaving mud and mold in its wake. Later we heard that one of our favorite ushers, who stayed on Fort Myers Beach, hung on to a high palm tree for four hours, until he could be rescued.
So. Much. Damage. So. Much. Loss. So. Much. Sadness.
Cell phone service was mostly deplorable. But for some odd reason, an old student of mine, who lived in Pittsburgh, 1400 miles away, was the only person getting through to me. I had her mother notify our daughters that we were alive and okay. She got right on it, “Hi I’m Beth. You don’t know me; I am the mother of your mother’s former student, and your parents wanted me to let you know that they are doing alright.” Isn’t God cute? Handing us random, perfect solutions in the midst of Armageddon?
What a mess- a heaping pile of saturated upturned outdoor furniture covered with pink fiberglass from multiple, jettisoned roofs, lay strewn about the yard. At one point during this debacle I joked that a giant had attended a nearby carnival, eaten too much cotton candy, and puked all over Southwest Florida. That stuff was EVERYWHERE. Our bikes were buried in that. Tangled vegetation wrapped around all this to form a yucky, slimy mountain. We were astonished that our Blessed Mary stature remained stoically standing, like she was giving a speech onstage, in front of her disheveled audience.
This wasn’t a fake nightmare. It was a real day-mare. I’m used to watching disasters on T.V., thinking, how horrific! Let’s send money to help, but PHEW not us! This time it was us.
We heard the American Red Cross Truck pull into our neighborhood, making their bullhorn announcement, “Hot meals! Come and get them!” Elixir straight out of Heaven, a mere 20 feet away. Delicious food-delectable chili and biscuits, comforted our careworn souls.
My husband works for Salvation Army. Every year he would take the canteen truck to disaster sites around the country and feed thousands of hot meals to beleaguered victims. He was staggered that this time he was the one being fed.
It took us 3 ½ weeks to clean up our trailer park. Piles of debris lined all roadways. The piles that did not get removed in a timely manner invited rats to nest in them. The gross factor was high after this debacle. A musty stench lingered in the air. We went through a whole bottle of hydrogen peroxide. The beaches’ water was bacteria-laden. People who braved them too soon got nasty skin rashes.
On our street, our push brooms were no match for the blanket of nails and screws lying in wait. On my drive home after hunting for water, there was a five inch bolt waiting for me, its silvery face a bright circle in my tire. I could imagine it saying, “Gotcha! Nanny nanny boo boo!” And, seriously, Cha-Ching! Ugh. Tires are a fortune these days. Yet more money we’d have to shell out for this cruel storm. As I sat in the car line of the Army Corps of Engineers’ free water/food/tarp station (God bless them), I chuckled at the circle of cars sporting spare donut tires. I was definitely not alone in the epidemic of nail injections!
Thank God my husband had purchased a 2-burner propane camp stove a while ago. We dusted that thing off, and it saved us. We had also previously ordered a dry food supply. We pulled that bin out from under the bed and lived on it for eleven days of no electricity. (Shameless plug alert: I highly recommend Patriot Supply! The Chicken a la King is my favorite).
My family and dear friends Jim, Ashleigh, Tom, Colleen, the Ortegas and Lynne sent us water, mixed nuts, and money as soon as delivery was up and running again. We will never, ever forget their TLC for us during this chaotic experience.
This hurricane was all about tips and tricks, word of mouth and living by your wits.
On one risky drive, I just happened to hear on the radio that if you could somehow get in touch with your child or a good friend up north, you could have them start your insurance claim. With millions of hurricane victims needing insurance claims, it was wise to try to get in the queue ASAP. Our daughter did this for us, and it made all the difference. Another daughter helped start our FEMA claim. The third daughter Venmo’ed us money. (She could not send us a check; our mailbox blew down). We are so blessed by these young women-they are gifts!
When we got our street and home under control, my husband did go with the canteen truck to dish up meals to Fort Myers Beach people, whose destruction was arresting. As he headed over the entry bridge, he had tears in his eyes. It was shattering the level of destruction. Charter boats were lifted up out of the water to land on top of cars. Private vessels askew among the Mangrove trees. Shrimp boats piled up like an overcrowded child’s toy bin, no rhyme or reason. My husband was struck that this shrimp- boat- landfill represented generations of a hard-earned livelihood. There were holes where iconic beach landmarks-hotels, bars and restaurants used to be. Truly the end of an era.
“We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed but not in despair; struck down but not destroyed.” 2 Cor. 4:8-9
Our homeowners insurance company seriously lowballed us for the cost of repairs. Our roof was trashed. Our walls were wet. Our kitchen had a hole in it. So we stared at each other across the kitchen table, exhausted, my husband’s face a map of discouragement. He gazed around at all our damage and despaired, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do.”
I skeptically replied, “It would take a God-miracle for us to be able to sell this place, and afford a house somewhere.” We wanted another area of Florida that wasn’t Hurricane Alley.
God worked swiftly on this one… A week later our middle daughter , Caroline, called. “Mumbo and Daddio, I couldn’t wait to tell you! I just got approved for a mortgage, and I’d love to buy an investment home you guys can live in, wherever you want. Where would you like to move? Let me know, and we’ll start looking.”
WHAAAAAT??? I scratched my ears, making sure they weren’t full of wax, and I was hearing correctly. Apparently we had stumbled upon a gigantic, otherworldly blessing.
So different houses were ruled out and the winner was chosen. And the blessings continued to rain down. Our daughter called us again, “Oh and by the way, I’m having the sellers put on a brand new roof.”
We went from frenetically grabbing buckets when thunderstorms threatened our old roof, to the peaceful pitter patter of raindrops on our new roof.
God will always give us strength and solutions for any calamity. Our gratitude for our daughter’s transformative blessing is unfathomable.
“He will do exceedingly abundantly above all you ask or imagine.” Eph. 3:20
Author Theresa Corbley Siller 