When A Tree Branch Fell

My alarm broke through the darkness of day breaking as it does most weekday mornings. My body preferring the warm downy comforter to the cold, raw air of my bedroom, I convinced myself to get up. Through sleepy eyes I knew we were still without power.

Hurricane Sandy huffed amd puffed into our small Pennsylvania town, covering the landscape with wet autumn leaves and riddled with branches. The storm is well past us now, but the pin-drop silence of our small Rancher reminds me of what Sandy left behind.

Last night my family celebrated a warm meal over candlelight, our side of the street darkening as the sun slid lower in the sky. But directly across from us, neighbors with power, spared the inconvenience. Such a funny sight. The juxtaposition of comfort versus struggle. It has been teaching me.

While we huddle together under blankets for warmth, seeing only by the light of a candle and a camping lantern, the other side of the street has... I was going to say "has all they need" but that makes it sound like I don't and that's just not true.

This whole ordeal makes me think about Job 1:21-22, how God gives and takes away. And in all the ways Job had and lost he did not blame God.

There are so many ways I have wanted God to provide for my family during this time. I am worried. My husband will not be paid for 4 days of no work. The adventure of living a "pioneer life" wears off pretty quickly, especially when you are not prepared to live that way. So easily I can see the negative in this experience and feel angry about it. Wanting someone to rescue us from this annoyance.

But...

When we needed safety, the tree branch fell away from our house, not damaging anything as it ripped away from itself and slammed hard onto the ground below.

When we needed a way to keep our food cold, a neighbor's freezer, a cousin's generator were freely offered.

When we needed a warm meal, loving friends sent invitations, a stovetop for mash potato making.

We have not gone without.

And I sit on my comfy couch under a fleece blanket, typing fingers turning blue from 3 days with no heat, seeing only by the God-given light that shines through our bay window, with the purring sound of a gas powered generator in the distance and I can be thankful. For God provides what I need, not necessarily what I think I need or what I want.

And I'm learning to be fine with that.


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