(First published February 19, 2024).

April 2022 was my last post here. Go ahead and read that first, then come back here. Ok so: sunset on homeschooling, “parenting”, being an at-home mom. As I read that post this afternoon, I am struck by the twilight melancholy notes of it. There was sadness, and there was trust for the next season’s “sunrise.”

I wish it had been that easy.

In June 2022, son #3 graduated community college, three AAs under his belt. The next day, son #4, my baby, crossed the stage at a local church, accepted his diploma–the end of my 16 year homeschool mom journey–and the storms immediately, as if pent up from all the years held back by grace, crashed in fury. For now nearly two years, we’ve barely caught our breath from one hurricane before another hit.

Less than 24 hours after son #4’s graduation, son #3 tested positive for COVID, infecting two brothers and a sister in law. Ten days after that, my husband, at high risk for many reasons and after more than 2 years of COVID safety, contracted it from a coworker. When I read his positive result, a word not usually uttered by “good Christian women” came impulsively out of my mouth. He got through it pretty well, with the help of Paxlovid, and we thought we were done with the monster.

July 2022. Hurricane: breakage in a way I’ve never experienced it before. (Fyi, just in case you’re speculating as to details? In all kindness, I’m confident your speculation is wrong, so maybe just keep on reading).

August. Son #3 moved away to begin the final two years of college. The night before he left town, he and I sat in the open back hatch of his car overlooking the ocean and I cried and cried over the brokenness that felt unfixable. Life was surreal and awful.

September. Hurricane: my husband, uncharacteristically sweating and rapidly fatigued most of the time, was diagnosed with long COVID. A few weeks later, he was in the hospital. Congestive heart failure, caused by the COVID virus. The cardiologist said if he hadn’t been admitted, he would soon have been dead. For three months he wore a portable defibrillator vest and we cringed for an alarm that would indicate cardiac arrest.

The holidays were hard.

January. Good reports from cardiac tests and doctor visits. My husband could return to work at the end of February.

June. Hurricane: my husband gets a call from HR that changes everything. We reel.

November. Hurricane: the next few weeks are foggy.

This chronology does not include the death of two beloved dogs I cared for constantly in their last months: one in January 2023, the other in December. Bookend deaths to the most tumultuous, difficult year I’ve ever lived. For some reason, I keep dreaming about them. In my dreams they are healthy, happy, running. Sometimes I wake crying, missing them so. They were lifetime dogs for our family, so there is real grief, but their deaths are also symbolic of larger losses. We’ve had a lot.

Lest you think all is loss, let me add in what’s missing. With each hurricane-lifequake came a settling when the ground stopped shaking. No one imploded, and no one was swallowed alive like Korah and his fam. There are some new horizons now that weren’t visible till the earth moved and the storm cleared.

My marriage grew, and my husband has a new love for Jesus: we read the Bible and pray together, he hasn’t missed a Tuesday men’s Bible study in forever, and he has a small army of believing brothers now who talk more on their group chat than my sisters and I do on ours. When the cardiologist said his heart had hardened from the CHF, we looked at each other and laughed because we know that actually the opposite has happened. God had purpose in the storms. We’re navigating and finding direction, making new memories with our most beloved ones. Learning new ways of being in relationship. It’s not easy, the letting go and the finding new footholds, but it’s worth it. Love is a disarming weapon. God had purpose.

There are next steps ahead for my husband’s career situation. God has been faithful. He’s had purpose.

I started school last March, during a lull in the hurricanes. I’m pursuing certification in biblical counseling. Pretty sure the hurricanes are preparing me for pretty much many situations that will be unraveled in my counseling office. Comforting others with the comfort I myself have received, indeed (2 Corinthians 1). God had purpose.

I love my job and my job loves me. It’s an opportunity to serve marginalized people again, to encourage frazzled and grumpy and lonely people, and to befriend coworkers I never would have met otherwise. We laugh and talk a lot (the circ desk is the loudest place you’ll find in our library. We don’t shush like we should). And…I’m surrounded by books. God had purpose.

I also know Jesus so, so, so much better. His presence has been real. His voice has been real. His Word has been alive. His faithfulness has been once again, and over and over again, proven. His provision of wise counsel and hold-you-up-when-you-can’t-stand prayers and sit-with-you-while-you-ugly-cry afternoons and hugs-that-wrap-you-in-love from my church sisters (and my biological sister) has been His here-on-earth lifeline.

When I wrote “Hurtin’ Hoopties”, more than one of the friends who shared their hurricane stories remarked that sanctification is not easy, but it is so worth it. Yeah, I’ve lived that now. And I understand that Jesus often makes a mess before He makes a miracle, cause I’ve seen it a bunch since that sunset season nearly two years ago.

God has purpose in all, all, all of this. It’s been a long, rough, stormy night since that sunset, and I don’t know when dawn will break, but as a friend told me long ago, paraphrasing Psalm 30, “I don’t know when your morning will come, butit will come. And there will be joy when it does.” I know Jesus has authority over wind and waves, and when to calm them.

This is the section of Scripture God gave me on one of the worst days ever in summer 2022, Scripture that is now forever imprinted on my soul and which served as the lighthouse for me in all of the storms. It’s on a framed print in my office now. It’s mine. I’ve lived it. I own it.

“But now, thus says the Lord, who created you, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name;
You are Mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned,
Nor shall the flame scorch you.
For I am the Lord your God,
The Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”

Isaiah 43:1-3 NKJV