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Shelter in the storm

Mark Klassen

Detail from “St. Paul Shipwrecked,” Gustave Doré, c.1860.

It was pouring rain that morning on the north coast of Honduras. My wife and I had started out early from the Mennonite Retreat Centre where we had been doing volunteer work for the past week. We had decided to spend the next few days of our trip on the beautiful Bay Islands, 50 kilometres off the coast. We searched for a taxi that would take us down to the dock where we could catch the boat to Roatan, the largest and most populated of the islands. Despite the rain and rough seas, we made our connections and arrived at the island on schedule. As the captain was docking the boat, he tuned the radio to a local station on which, to our chagrin, there was a discussion of hurricane preparedness.

In the little port town, we quickly found the bus stop. There we boarded a mini-bus headed for the West End, the part of the island known for its natural beauty and cheap accommodations. It was there, when we got off the bus, that we received our first real warnings of the massive hurricane that was scheduled to hit the island later that day. As we wandered down the street with our backpacks, various passersby greeted us, assuming that we were among those who were desperately trying to get off the island. When we announced that we had just arrived, we were confronted with bewildered grins and alarm. Other tourists were heading for the airport, some panic-stricken. Many of the locals were preparing for the worst, boarding up windows, storing food and moving to higher ground.

How did we get ourselves into this situation? And what were we supposed to do now? Should we try to leave the island? If we couldn’t, where would it be safe for us to stay?

Anxious and confused, we found a bench beside the road and sat down to pray. We prayed desperate prayers. With the utmost sincerity, we asked God for wisdom, guidance, protection and an encouraging voice in the midst of the growing uncertainty. Moments after our “Amen”, we heard a voice. Speaking to us was a man with a thick Caribbean accent; instinctively, we also knew that it was God who was speaking. The voice belonged to Dave Miller, a Seventh Day Adventist pastor who was not only inviting us to rent a room in his basement but was also inviting us to trust God with him and not fear the storm. We accepted his invitation on both counts.

During the next few days, Hurricane Mitch ravaged the island. From our basement, we heard and felt the power of the wind and rain. We could hear crashing waves on the shore 50 metres away. Our electrical power and water supply were cut off by the second day. We could hear trees falling in the yard around us. At the slightest ease in the weather, we ventured outside to get some fresh air and to peruse the mess. The road had been mostly reclaimed by the beach, and the waves had washed up all kinds of debris, including a plethora of sea-life and the wood from destroyed docks. Later, we would hear about far more extensive damage and loss of life on the other islands.

Throughout the storm, we prayed. We prayed with confidence, knowing that God was there with us. He had proven Himself to us already on the roadside, and now in our basement hideaway He continued to meet our needs. We prayed for protection, provision and encouragement. And God answered our prayers. He provided a kerosene lantern for light, a gas stove for cooking, food and water to nourish us, and a comfortable, dry place to sleep. He even provided us with a small, battery-operated radio so that we could listen to the latest hurricane reports and learn what was rumour and what was fact. Most of all, God gave us hope. We leaned on Him, and on each other, and we found peace in the midst of the storm.

We survived Hurricane Mitch, unlike thousands of Central Americans. We don’t know why we were among the fortunate. Was it for our testimony to the people around us? Was it for those less fortunate – so that we would be able to help in the aftermath? Was it for the strengthening of our own faith? We suspect it was, in part, some combination of these reasons, and yet we don’t understand fully God’s purpose in these things. We do know that in our desperation we cried out to God and He heard us, giving us shelter in the storm.

Mark Klassen is on staff part-time at Yarrow (B.C.) MB Church and also works for MCC Supportive Care Services.

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Last modified December 11, 2000.

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