I counted myself blessed after Hurricane Sandy finally passed, considering the terrible devastation she caused all across the Northeast. The trees around my house withstood the strong winds, and no one in my town was hurt when trees fell on their houses or cars.
Power lines were down everywhere, streets impassable, especially in the pitch-black dark. The house was an icebox after days without heat, schools were closed for the week, and I couldn’t get into the office. But we were safe from the floods that had washed away everything for so many people.
With the last of the ice melting in the cooler, I threw out the end of a carton of milk, lit the stove with a match and put the eggs on to hard boil. At least the battle to save the perishables was over. I was blessed for sure, but still my nerves were frayed from the stress of keeping the kids warm and fed and relatively comfortable until our power was restored.
I got under a blanket to pass some time reading by flashlight. I was captivated by the true story of a New York fireman stationed in the South Bronx called Report from Engine Co. 82. These firefighters were earth angels to the city’s poorest, and reading of their heroism relaxed me. As my anxiety ebbed, feelings of gratefulness crept back in. Thank you that we’re safe, I prayed, and went back to my book: “She told me her apartment had no heat, and a pot of water is always simmering on the stove.” My eggs!
It was a little thing, but I felt the reassurance of angels at work. We all need them and pray that they surround those who need them most.
