Conversations in a cyclone – Mary-Anne
I wonder, as you think back to Cyclone Alfred, what impacted you most?
Was it the apprehension of waiting for the cyclone, and waiting, and waiting…? (TCAlfred certainly gave the old saying ‘as slow as a wet week’ a whole new meaning!)
Was it anxiety about what might happen, because you’ve experienced a destructive weather event before and were afraid this might be destructive too? And that was scary.
Perhaps it was the experience of living without power for a few days? I’ve heard some people say 24 hours was more than enough, while others welcomed the opportunity for reading books instead of watching screens, and evenings by candlelight, for several days.
Or perhaps it was wondering whether your pontoon would hold fast, or whether the big gum tree next door would withstand the wind?
Were you concerned about loss of income? Or getting to work at a hospital or some other essential service during the cyclone when there was no public transport, traffic lights were out and driving conditions dangerous?
Were you anxious about property you’re responsible for, but you don’t own? Like school and church buildings.
Has the clean-up been exhausting?
Did the sheer power of nature leave you with an abiding sense of awe and wonder?
There were some conversations during the cyclone and it’s aftermath that have left me with lots to think about. They might hold some food for thought for you too.
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On the Monday prior to the cyclone, at our Robina Conversations @ 5, one of our group said she was concerned about being alone through the cyclone. Several group members said they were happy for her to call them any time, even if simply to have someone on the other end of the phone if she was worried, especially during the night.
The reality is, not everyone was available because of disruption to phone services. However, when I called her to touch base after the cyclone passed, she was happy to report that neighbours had check in on her regularly, and she didn’t feel alone.
In fact, I’ve heard many people talk about the support they felt from neighbours, both during the cyclone, and in the clean-up afterwards. What a difference it makes when we look out for each other. Why can we not do that more when there is no cyclone?
Who can we reach out to this week and offer the gift of a conversation?
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Some of our neighbours have a 6-month old baby. Their apartment was feeling very small after several days of staying in during the worst of the weather. When we invited them over for a cuppa, boiling water on our gas stove, it was a wonderful opportunity to get to know them better and share the simple things of life with them. For them to take us as they found us and for us to not fuss about the state of our house. Rather, to focus on what mattered most – care and support during a stressful time.
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One of our Palm Beach hall hirers came to pick up a set of keys on the Wednesday afternoon before the cyclone. Earlier that day a couple of us had walked around the property, securing anything that could have become airborne. We noticed some equipment used by this hall hirer for his classes, resting against the back wall of the church. We deemed it wasn’t a risk to leave where it was.
When I asked him whether he was happy to leave the equipment out, he said, “This is only Category 2! It will be a bit wild and windy, but I’m from Cairns, and I’ve been through category 4 and 5 cyclones. There’s a big difference between 120 and 300km/hr wind. I’m happy to leave the equipment where it is. It will be fine.” (And it was.)
Perspective. For someone who’s never experienced a cyclone, this helped put things in perspective for me.
My sister lives on the Atherton Tablelands, and like our hall hirer, has lived through wild and destructive cyclones, including one where she put herself at great risk to drive onto town to render assistance to others. (She says that was one of the most unwise things she’s ever done.)
I was grateful for the perspective that others’ experiences provided. It helped me to be sensible but not unnecessarily worried. Keeping things in perspective is like a reality check, helping to keep our thoughts and behaviours from over-reacting, which we are all prone to do sometimes.
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Here is part of a text conversation with my sisters (including my sister from the Atherton Tablelands) on Friday 7/3:
Sister 1: Thinking of you and feeling worried and helpless. When is it due to make landfall? How windy and rainy is it? Love to you all.
Me: Thanks. And no need to worry. All is well atm. Nothing like a Larry. Windy and rainy, fluctuating in intensity. Landfall tomorrow morning … moving at a snail’s pace. A sad part for us is knowing our beach is disappearing …
Sister 1: the beach is sad. Nature is incredibly powerful.
Me: Nature is. Always a poignant expression of the cycle of life … creation, death, re-creation.
Sister 2: I love how these events humble us. The internet may inform us a lot, but if you typed in ‘how to stop a cyclone’ it would be silent.
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In the Old Testament, in the ancient historical book we call 1 Kings, there is a strange story about a man – a prophet actually – called Elijah. He is fleeing for his life, afraid. He falls asleep in the wilderness, hoping to die. An angel provides food and drink to sustain him. ‘He went in the strength of that food for forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God’ (I Kings 19:8).
In that place Elijah takes shelter in a cave. ‘The word of the Lord’ tells Elijah, ‘Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.’
There was a great wind, strong enough to split rocks. Then an earthquake. Then fire. But the Lord was in none of these.
After the fire there was a sound of sheer silence. Elijah wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. A voice came to him, saying, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’ Elijah responds by telling the Lord how he has been zealous, and is then given instructions to return and anoint kings and prophets.
Now, in the stillness and calm following Tropical Cyclone Alfred, what kind of conversations might we have – with God, with others, with ourselves? How will we check in on intrusive noise levels so that God’s voice can be heard in our encounters with nature, with people and as we get on with our lives.
As we continue our Lenten journey in the familiar cycle of life – death – resurrection, may our Lenten practice of prayer provide space for God’s voice to be heard in our lives, so that our conversations might offer life-giving hope to those we encounter. People, who in the middle of a cyclone, are simply vulnerable human beings, like us.
Grace and peace,
Mary-Anne