The Utility Truck

It was a Sunday night.  My husband Geoff was out of town.  I was home alone with our five young kids.  As I was getting dinner ready I started becoming aware of some fairly strong gusts of wind hitting our house.  I gathered a few candles and replaced batteries in a couple flashlights. Just in case.  

Our daughter Anna, age 9, asked me what I was doing and I explained that I just wanted to be prepared in case the power went out.  She nodded, looking outside apprehensively.

It was while we were eating dinner that I first started to feel alarmed.  The electrical lines running to our house from the utility pole just across the road were swaying in the wind like jump ropes. I took another bite of my dinner, vaguely aware in the back of my mind that something was wrong.  There was too much slack in those lines, and I wondered why.  

We finished dinner and I hustled everyone upstairs to get ready for bed.  The storm was quickly becoming violent, and I wanted everyone settling down to sleep as soon as possible.  

The kids got into pajamas, and pulled out sleeping bags.  They wanted to sleep on the floor of our room tonight.  With a big storm hitting us, they wanted to all be together.  

As they got their beds situated I checked the weather forecast on the computer.   Our section of the state was red with storm warnings.  And the storm was still increasing.  Gusts in excess of 100 miles-an-hour were predicted.  The peak of the storm was expected to hit in the early morning hours.  

I tried to be calm about it, but the kids were aware of the building storm outside and they were worried, too.  

“Are we okay?”  

“Is this storm stronger than most storms?”  

“What if the power goes out?”  

“Will Dad be worried about us tonight?”  

“Are we safe, Mom?”  

I reassured them, trying to sound calmer than I felt.  As each gust crashed into our house like a bulldozer I reminded myself that this old house had withstood every storm to hit this area for the past 80 years.  Surely it would withstand this storm, too.  But with each shuddering blast I felt less and less confident.

Alaskans like to brag about the weather they’ve experienced.  I don’t know why.  They’ll say, “Yeah, anywhere else this would be considered a hurricane. But here in Alaska we just call it Tuesday.”

But this storm didn’t feel like just another day of the week.  It felt like a hurricane.

I turned out the lights so that when the power went out, which I was fairly certain it would do, it wouldn’t seem as startling to the kids.  Then I closed all the shades so that if a window were to shatter hopefully the shades might help hold back some of the glass.  I lit two small candles, and as the kids climbed into their beds they commented on how cozy our room looked.  Except for the building storm outside.

Kathryn, age 12, read a story aloud, by flashlight, to her younger siblings while I finished closing the window shades.  

I again noticed the swaying power lines outside which had way too much slack in them. And then suddenly I saw why there was such slack.  The utility pole on the other side of our narrow road was leaning toward our house. Slowly being forced over by the winds. Falling, right toward our house.

I desperately tried to measure height against distance.  If the pole gave way and fell was it tall enough to actually hit our house?  I couldn’t be positive, but it did seem that the pole was tall enough to land on our house.

At around 8:30 there was a flash outside our house like fireworks on the 4th of July as the transformer across the road blew.  The kids saw the flash and were impressed by how pretty the burst of light was. A fraction of a second later everything went black.  We peered out the window together to see our whole community, the entire island, in complete darkness.  

The kids finally drifted to sleep, and I sat up worrying, unable to sleep.  The power was out.  The phone lines were down.  The roar of the wind was a deafening constant now.  The gusts were coming closer and closer together and our old house trembled in response.  And I kept peering out the window, desperately hoping to see lights somewhere. Anywhere.  

It’s not very often that I feel afraid.  But I was afraid that night.  I didn’t know if we were safe in our house.  I knew that we would be less safe trying to go anywhere else.  And where would we go?  

I was alone.  Cut off from the rest of the world.  And I didn’t think we were safe.  

I started to pray.  And, as is often the case, I prayed desperately.  

“Please God, keep me calm.  Help me to think clearly.  Help me know what to do.”  

But I didn’t feel calm.  And I didn’t know what to do.  I felt afraid.  I was worried.  Worried that when that pole gave way it would crash into our house.  And if the impact of the utility pole crashing down on us wasn’t damaging enough, the fire it would start probably would be.  

I was afraid.  And alone. Geoff was out of town.  It was up to me to keep our family safe during this storm.  It was up to me to protect all of us.  No help would even be able to get to us in this storm.  

At 11:00 I woke up the kids and had them move downstairs to our small family room. There was barely enough room on the floor for all of us, but that room had an outside door which exited to the backyard.  If the utility pole came down on us it would hit the roof on the front side of the house.  We would be better able to escape from the family room.  

The kids settled back to sleep after a few empty reassurances from me.  And I sat up, still desperately praying.

“Dear God, please keep our family safe tonight.  Please hold that utility pole up and keep it off our house.  Help me to be calm so I’ll know what to do if I need to act fast.”

By midnight the gusts were still increasing, and for a second I thought I could faintly hear an occasional shout outside.  I couldn’t see anything when I looked out.  I wondered if anyone had discovered yet that the blown transformer was across the road from us.  And I hoped they’d be able to see that the whole utility pole was giving way.

“Dear God, please keep us safe.  Please send an angel or something to hold onto that utility pole for tonight.  Brace up that pole until this storm passes.  Dear God, please  keep us safe until morning.”

A few short hours later I awoke to morning’s light, and a peaceful silence. The power was still out.  Our house was cold.   But the storm had blown out.

I got up and went out to the living room to look outside.  The ground was littered with branches and scattered debris.  It was a mess outside.  But calm.

 And on the other side of the road, directly across from our house, was a large utility truck with its arm extended, bracing up that power pole.  Holding the pole in place.  Keeping it from toppling onto our house.  The pole was still standing.  Kind of. Held in place by the utility truck.

I smiled as the tears started.

In my fear and desperation I had called out to God, pleading for an angel “or something” to come hold up that power pole. Something to keep it from falling over on our house. I had asked for an angel “or something.” The “something” turned out to be a big utility truck.

I humbly whispered my thanks, to a very practical God.  

The utility truck stayed there for the next several days while crews worked to replace the old pole.  And by the time the truck was finally moved it had become  symbolic to me.  Symbolic of a God who, even in my fear, and my worry, and my aloneness, was still taking care of my family in a very practical, and tangible, manner.  

I was reminded once again that nothing, NOTHING, not even a storm with gusts above 100 miles-an-hour, catches God by surprise.  And nothing, NOTHING, has ever been or ever will be more than what God can handle.  

And I could continue to trust in that.