Living in Virginia, we are used to getting prepared for and hunkering down for hurricanes


Living in Virginia, we are used to getting prepared for and hunkering down for hurricanes.  Hurricane Isabel knocked down trees, knocked out our power and kept us cooped up for about a week in 2003.  In 2011, Hurricane Irene wasn’t so bad on us, but I did have everyone in our local Wal Mart thinking they needed a hot glue gun.  It was just something I was doing for fun at 2 in the morning (making folks think they needed a hot glue gun).



Hurricane Sandy was not expected to hit us until late Sunday or Monday, but we were prepared.  At least I thought we were prepared.  I volunteered to go to the grocery store to get the necessities.  It was a fun trip.



I came home with a bunch of chicken legs, a whole chicken, three pounds of hamburger meat, a lot of pasta, can goods and a couple of loaves of bread.



It was stupid.  I admit it.  However, all of that stuff was on sale.



After taking a scolding for buying meat that was going to spoil if the power went out, I tried to justify it all by noting that I figured we could cook the meat on the grill out back.  Of course, I was then asked, “How are you going to cook outside in a driving rain and 50 mile an hour winds?”



Resisting the temptation to talk about the great deal I got on the cans of succotash I bought, I just shrugged it off and noted that I should have bought Pop Tarts.



Fortunately, we fared much better in Virginia than those up around New York.  Our power didn’t go out and my chicken legs didn’t spoil.



Having gone through a few hurricanes, I understand they are no laughing matter, but there are always interesting things to be found when storms come.  Jesus walked on water in the midst of a storm, so I was not surprised to experience a miracle in the middle of Hurricane Sandy.



My son is a 15 year-old freshman in high school.  They say we aren’t supposed to say “freshman” anymore, because it leaves out women.  My son and I discuss these sorts of things when we are riding alone in the car.



His high school was having their homecoming dance on the Saturday that Hurricane Sandy came to town.  The weather wasn’t that bad on Saturday evening, so they went ahead with the dance.  I took him and agreed to pick him up around 11 PM.



My son and a friend decided to go to the dance stag and look to meet girls without dates or the girls who got mad at their dates.  Evidently, there is a high probability of this happening.  It made good sense to me; I can be a bit frugal and found this to be an admirable venture on my son’s part.



After waiting in line and eventually picking my son up from the dance, I asked him the normal questions.



“Did you have fun?”



“Were there many girls without dates?”



“Did ya’ll find any girls who got mad at their dates?”



Basically, I got a few yeses and a lot of grunts.  I could tell; he did have a good time.



On the way home, my son’s cell phone was getting its power drained by non-stop text messages.  He didn’t even have time to respond because the incoming messages were coming so fast.  I could not resist the temptation, so I continued to ask him questions as he tried to keep up with the text messages.



I asked, “Is that the girl you found at the dance?”



“Was she waiting on you there?”



“What’s her name?”



“Did she come with someone else?”



“Does she go to church with us?”



All I got was more grunts and half-hearted no’s that I couldn’t get a bearing on whether they were an actual no or an “I’m not going to tell you”.



I let it go.



The weather was getting worse and we decided on Saturday evening that it would probably be best not to venture out for church on Sunday morning.



Sure enough, it was raining hard and the wind was gusting on Sunday morning.



That is when the miracle occurred.



My son who usually requires a crane or some sort of shock treatment to get up for school in the morning and a double dose to get up to go to church on Sunday, jumped out of bed wanting to know when we were leaving for church.



After doing that Daddy stroking of the two day-old beard thing, running my fingers through the hair that’s left thing and that thing where I clasp my forehead and fiddle with my eyebrows, I resisted the temptation to ask him again what her name was.



I took it for what it was – a miracle.  The wind was blowing the rain horizontally and my son wanted to walk on water to church.



He got to go to church.



Later in the day, I heard the song by the country music group, Shenandoah, “I Wanna Be Loved Like That.”



To myself, I asked, “Don’t we all want to find somebody willing to walk on water to get to us?”



 I did that Daddy thing where I try to scratch my lower back with my left arm over my left shoulder.  For some reason, I never seem to give up on it actually reaching down there over my left shoulder.  It didn’t work again.



I’m sorry that Hurricane Sandy wasn’t as good to folks in other parts of the country as it was to me.  My chicken legs didn’t go bad and I got to experience a miracle that money can’t buy.



If anyone is reading this, please come by my house and help me get my left arm back over my head.



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