It could be that I’ve mentioned this — that my basement flooded really badly about three years ago or so, and I have not yet recuperated from that horrible experience of staying up for three days to empty shop vacs, sleeping 10 minutes at a time — but in case I didn’t, it was absolutely horrible!
And then it did it again a week later. My beloved sister came that time and helped me, or I would have had a major nervous breakdown. I will never get over the trauma! So now every time there is a drop of water on the basement floor during a deluge, I freak totally out.
Except for tonight. When I stepped on the throw rug at the bottom of the stairs and it went squish, I didn’t even freak. Just asked God, “What do you think I’m made of? Why do you think I can handle all this? Because, truly, I cannot.” Still waiting on the reply. Right now I’m too tired to care… plus it is barely leaking, just soaked all the rugs and a few other items. Nothing like the river that ran “the other time,” as I think of it.
Still, that is nothing compared to sandbagging and more sandbagging to try to save your home, and the water overtaking it anyway, before you have a chance to get everything out that you needed to get out. Our high school kids have been volunteering their time to fill the bags and help any way they can.
The ground is so soft, full of water. There is nowhere on the face of this earth that I would consider “safe.” Earthquakes, mud slides, floods, tsunamis, tornadoes, hurricanes, lightening…
I’m glad I know Jesus.