It was the night before Christmas Eve, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even my golden retriever mix, Lucky. She was sleeping peacefully, curled up on the floor. My small artificial Christmas tree was set up on a table in the corner of the room. Its lights twinkled merrily.
The rain was coming down hard outside, creating a soothing melody. I decided to take a cue from Lucky and turn in early. As I drifted off to sleep, visions of sugar plums should’ve been dancing through my head. Instead, I woke to a strange hissing sound.
The first thing I saw was the digital clock on my nightstand. 5 a.m. The next thing I saw was the water. I lived in an old building that used to be a post office. Everything—the living room, kitchen and bedroom—was in one large, open area. From my bed, I could see water rushing in under the front door, turning the beige carpet chocolate brown.
I threw off the covers and jumped out of bed, putting on my fuzzy slippers. I knew I was living in a flood zone, so I’d rehearsed this emergency plan in my head many times. The
water could rise in a matter of minutes, trapping people in their homes or washing them away with the current. I had to hurry. I gathered up my always-packed tote with my essential items, snatched up my keys and pulled on my bathrobe.
I tried the back door—a heavy, steel thing—but it was stuck. That wasn’t part of the plan. My truck was parked in the back, and this was the quickest way to it. I pushed with all
my might, but the door wouldn’t open. The water must be higher than I thought. I grabbed a pair of rubber boots and hurried to the front door. It took some doing, but to my relief, it opened. Now I just had to get Lucky.
I turned around and saw that she’d retreated to higher ground—the couch. She sat there, panting nervously. “Come here, Lucky!” I called out. She didn’t budge. “Come on!” My panic was rising along with the water level. About five inches covered the floor now, with more rushing in through the open door. Lucky knew something was wrong, and the desperation in my voice wasn’t encouraging. It was clear she wasn’t moving. With my hands full, perhaps it would be easier to get my truck, put my things in it, then pull up to the front door and carry Lucky out. “Stay, girl!” I said before stepping outside and closing the door behind me.
The hiss of water became a roar. Steadying myself, I stepped into the water, brown and churning. I couldn’t see my own feet. At one point, I stumbled, falling forward with a splash onto one knee. By the time I made it to the truck, I was soaked through and shivering, my knee bleeding.
I opened the door and climbed inside, praying it would start. The engine came to life. I threw the truck into four-wheel drive and hit the gas, gunning it to the front of the house to pick up Lucky. Halfway up the driveway, the floodwater suddenly surged. A wave washed over the hood of my truck, killing the engine instantly. It was a lost cause. I would
just have to get Lucky and walk to higher ground. Kicking off my ruined slippers, I pulled on my rubber boots. I hopped out, wading through the water toward the front door.
With the water still rising, the doorknob was now completely under water. Oh no. I tried it anyway. It wouldn’t open. The pressure of the water was keeping it closed. I pulled
and pulled with all my strength, but the door wouldn’t budge. I pulled until the doorknob came off in my hand, sending me backward into the water. As I scrambled to my feet, I
imagined Lucky inside, sitting on the couch as the water continued to rise. I couldn’t leave her! I wouldn’t!
Get out now. It was a voice, clear and strong. The words rang in my head, separate from my own inner dialogue. Get out now, the voice repeated. To save Lucky, you have to
save yourself.
Though I hated to admit it, the heavenly voice was right. I had to get to higher ground to find help for Lucky before it was too late. I turned around and started walking, uphill,
toward the main road. I leaned forward, using all my strength to take each step. The water was above my waist now and still rising, threatening to sweep me away.
I finally reached the main road. My heart raced as I struggled to catch my breath. I still had my tote slung over my shoulder, but—like me—it was absolutely drenched, along with
everything inside it. I tried my phone anyway, but it wouldn’t turn on. I had no way to call for help. Just then, I spotted a glow in the distance. Headlights, fast approaching. I waved down the driver, and he let me borrow his phone so I could call emergency services.
When the fire department and EMTs arrived, I immediately informed them my dog was still inside the house. They told me they couldn’t go in after Lucky due to their policy about not risking human life to save a pet. I understood, but that didn’t stop the tears. Lucky was my baby! But one kind firefighter saw my distress and volunteered to go after Lucky on his own. He set off with a crowbar and a length of rope, one end tied around his waist and the other end to the bumper of the firetruck.
He returned with Lucky in his arms—unharmed and completely dry. He said he’d found her on the kitchen counter. Apparently, she’d avoided the floodwater completely by climbing to higher and higher points in the house. I hugged her tightly as her tail wagged, a steady thump, thump, thump against my side. We were both finally safe.
A few days later, I managed to secure a rental car. The Red Cross had given Lucky and me enough money to put us in a hotel room for a week. When the rain had stopped and the flooding had receded, I went back to the house.
My front lawn was strewn with my belongings, most of them damaged beyond repair and caked with mud. My truck sat in the driveway, totaled. The front door was hanging open. Inside, it was a mess. The water had risen over three feet. I could tell by the stains it had left behind on the wall. The floor was littered with trash and debris. I felt tears gather in my eyes as I surveyed the damage.
Then, I saw it—the twinkling lights. My Christmas tree! Incredibly, my little tabletop Christmas tree was untouched. There it sat, clean and pristine on its table, lights still on, ornaments still sparkling through the gloom. A small Christmas miracle to remind me that God hadn’t just whispered in my ear. He’d been with me and Lucky all along. And he
would remain with us as I rebuilt my life after the flood.
