These Days of Awe

Nothing like an impending natural disaster to keep the senses keen and the soul sharp.

As I write this Wednesday morning, Hurricane Ian is twisting its heinous red hiney across Florida after sawing through Cuba last night and leaving poor Puerto Rico in tatters before that. He appears to be staggering right towards the Georgia coast, dragging a heavy, wet diaper of wind and rain that is definitely gonna leave a mark. 

Satellite screenshot of Ian’s fat tushy

Delighted as I am that you’re reading this right now, surely you have better things to do. We all do, like buying extra batteries and relieving Habersham Beverages of its rum stock. Have you lashed the lawn furniture and bought emergency candles yet? What about snacks? You don’t want to weather this storm without your favorite nuts, do you? 

Speaking of husbands, mine is busy sandbagging Strong Gym, lest Ian undo repairs made after last year’s flood and car crash that left us with an intimacy with the insurance company that we don’t care to deepen. I suppose I could be helping, but I’ve got bathtubs to fill and deadlines to slay!

Though the kind brainiac of Enki Research prognosticates that there’s “no need for extreme measures” like boarding up the windows or preparing to eat sardines for the next two weeks, our own local treasure of disaster data warns that high tides and terrible traffic can do their own damage. (Will someone please give Chuck Watson a key to the city already? Or at least his own arena parking space?)

The socials are abuzz with advice for the hurricane first-timers, the most grizzled among us vowing that they will never, ever evacuate again, lest they end up in Hinesville (lookin’ at you, Warren Arbury!) While the phrase “hunker down” always reminds me of Vikings cooking caribou in an ice cave, it has re-emerged into the lexicon as the favored description of drinking beer on one’s porch.   

Favorite children’s book

Personally, I think it’s kind of exciting. Now that quarantine is a distant fever dream and life is normalish again, I welcome a little disruption to the routine of work and entertaining the dogs. Also, a lightning show through the living room window is far more compelling than anything streaming on Netflix right now.

This of course speaks to the tremendous privilege of having a home, ours a mid-century brick ranch so stalwart not even the Big Bad Wolf could blow it down. Around Savannah, our roofless neighbors will be hunkering down for real, and the homeless shelters and emergency service teams are expected to be overwhelmed this weekend. If you feel so inclined, Emmaus House will distribute your donations of tarps, tents, and plastic bags, and the Inner City Night Shelter will always make good use of your money. 

It’s important to note that many folks won’t come into the shelters because they don’t want to abandon their pets. The angels of Renegade Paws Rescue are collecting supplies for both humans and fur people at 1106 E. Henry over the next couple of days and will deliver to the camps where they regularly visit to provide pet food and meds. New and used camping gear is especially requested. 

It so happens that for my people, Ian is coinciding with The Days of Awe, the ten-day interval between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This is when we are commanded to turn inward and consider the mistakes and flaws in our behavior in the last year, and it is in this liminal space where it is supposedly decided whether we are written into the Book of Life once again.

As a kid I always pictured this self-scrutiny as a swirling storm seeking out the darkest corners of my soul, the eye of it seeing all my small lies, ugly meanness, delusions, insecurities, and excuses. I used to try and write out each one of my sins in my journal (the same one where I recorded all the mean thoughts), hurriedly adding to the list before the last shofar blast so the storm would clear the slate for another year.

Though I no longer hold my Maker to any timelines, its significance weighs on me nonetheless. During this period, we’re counseled that repentance, prayer, and good deeds can temper divine judgment—though we’re also told that it is mercy for and from our fellow humans that matters most. 

If I have harmed you or insulted you over the past year, I apologize and ask for forgiveness, even if you totally deserved it. Similarly, with as much grace as my flawed, petty heart can muster, I forgive all those who have trespassed against me in any way, intentionally or not. (Except for Buddy Carter. Guess I’m willing to die on that hill.)

And though my prayers are more of a stream-of-consciousness nattering that I’m pretty sure God keeps on mute much of the time, I wish you and yours all the love and peace possible in this strange and unpredictable dimension. 

It’s not likely we’ll be wiped off the map this time, but Mother Nature’s terrifying fury is a humbling reminder that life is fragile, and finite. Y’all stay safe and dry, and may you find this storm more awesome than awful. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some sandbags to fill.

If the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will  ~ JLL 

In our New Year finery