The eye of the storm

            I remember when I was a young child and my father was trying to explain hurricanes to me.  We were watching a movie that had a hurricane in it.  I was confused, thinking the storm had passed, just as the characters did.  It wasn’t until I was old enough to watch a weather map during the coverage of a real hurricane that I realized how the storm could be ‘not done yet’ if the rain stopped for a while. 

            Lately, it feels like life has created an eye to one of my personal storms.  It’s aggravating on one level because I want to just get it over with.  I’ve always been a rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of person, not very patient when it came to dealing with stupidity especially.  But the universe definitely has a sense of humor, and I’m not allowed to.  This storm has been swirling over warm water for long enough that it’s worked itself into a doozy of a hurricane. 

            So, what quells a hurricane?  Two things: landfall, and moving over cold water, though that didn’t work too well with super storm Sandy, but it had incredible strength to it that most storms don’t have.  I can’t move the storm, or cool the water.  The things that have been set in motion are immovable.  She’s a comin’ and nothing will change that. 

            That leaves landfall.  With no water to fuel it, a storm will eventually die out, use up all its fury and be nothing left but gentle rain.  Okay, so the storm is headed for my hometown, metaphorically speaking.  In fact, it’s already hit, about a year and a half ago, sweeping through, creating amazing havoc… so, I can either evacuate, or ride out the other half. 

            Yeah… there really isn’t any evacuating from your life, unless you plan to quit your job, move hundreds of miles away and start over.  I actually did that once.  I had nothing to lose at the time, though.  I have everything to lose now. 

            The thing is, I don’t fear the storm.  I just detest the idea of dealing with it again.  Ever hear Mother Theresa say “God never gives you more than you can handle” on a poster or a plaque?  The rest of that quote is “I just wish He didn’t trust me so much”… even the world’s most patient person doesn’t want to stare at the second leading edge of the storm.  They want to give up, let someone else be the damn strong one this time, run for cover. 

            No.  Someone has to be the sentinel, tied to the ship’s mast to keep from being washed overboard but therefore subjected to every single salty wave that slams into the deck. 

            It is coming, but for tonight, I try to take a deep breath, calm my shaking frame and whisper to myself that the eye of the storm is a gift.  I am being given a few minutes to prepare.  To think.  To make a plan for how to reinforce the walls and board the windows.  And then, achingly, watch the sky turn green and hear the howling wind begin…

            And remember one more thing: the next volley will neither be longer than the first, nor will it be stronger.  I know that really only works in real weather, but I can say with fair certainty that this metaphorical storm is dying out, and though it may fight me until its dying breath, I will win.  I am like the occupants of New Orleans.  I was here before Katrina.  I’ve rebuilt my house before.  And before the last of the rain even stops falling, I will pick up my hammer and go to my store of wood, kept dry under a huge tarp. 

            I am not afraid of you.  I know your name, and your pattern.  Bring it.  I’m waiting…