The Guides and Angels In Your Story: The Hurricane

As I look back on multiple stories from my life, my realization that I have always stood on the outside of the circle has become clearer with each birthday.  Like most people the stories of childhood appear to be more “why me” than “wonderful memories”.  I’ve spent my life wondering about the purpose of past stories that made my life harder not better.  But, in every soul that journeys here to earth, we are here to learn and become, if possible, a beacon on light.  Each glimmer that comes increases as we grow from lessons that we encounter.  Good or bad each story makes us closer to our destiny. 

In 1969, my father moved us temporarily outside of New Orleans right across the state line to a very small country town.   It was near the Gulf Coast and normally only had people from New Orleans as weekend camp residents.  The locals had families that had lived in the area for decades and they were not fond of city people who thought that they could just move in and take over.  I was five so I didn’t know what was going on as far as the hostility of the older people in the area.  Sometimes our guides let us know right away that we are in the wrong place.  It’s important that you listen to it the first time.  It won’t get better.

Later that year in August, Hurricane Camille was barreling towards the entire Gulf Coast and New Orleans area.  My parents hurried to secure our home when it looked like a direct hit to our little town.  My mother finally agreed to drive with us, six children, to NASA which was serving as a shelter.  My father refused to go opting to stay in the house with our dog, Whitie.  My mother cried and pleaded with him, but he was staying put.  The hurricane was a category 5 with winds up to 175 miles per hour.  We pulled out of our driveway just as the first winds came across seemingly out of nowhere.  Our black and white television had gone off hours before so the guessing game of where the hurricane came from a tiny transistor radio. 

My mother drove 25 miles to NASA with both hands on the wheel.  The younger children, including myself, thought it was a game as the wind would push her 1960 white Chevrolet slighting to the right with every gust.  My older sisters were praying the rosary in the back seat.  As the rain poured and night set in, we all became alarmed that this may be our last ride.  At one point we fell silent and held on to our seats.  The car kept moving, somehow, but everything was black.  Suddenly there was a lift in the rain, and we saw some small lights ahead of a large building.  We had reached NASA and we were still alive. But who drove the car allowing it to stay on the road for the last one or two miles?  My mother still held tightly to the steering wheel, but she could not see. At one point, she lifted her foot from the accelerator, but the car continued to move.   It was them.  It’s always them.

We ran to the foyer of the large building wet, scared, tired, and confused.  We were led to the second floor where only tiny areas were left for families to huddle together.  My sister and I found a cozy place under a desk for the night pretending that it was a clubhouse.  My sleep was disrupted as the wind gust increased to 175 miles an hour.  The large building shifted and seemed to bend with the oncoming winds as if it were a palm tree.  Windows broke, people screamed, and babies cried all in the black darkness of fear.  I thought of my father and our small house and how fearful he must be right now.  It was then that I heard his voice a few feet away from my little makeshift clubhouse.  He had come after all!  He was safe!  It seems that as those first winds came in his fear of what was coming overcame his desire to be the brave man that stayed to protect the house.  So, he got in his car and drove in the same weather that we had overcome.  His experience was the same as ours.  There was no explanation except divine intervention of how he managed to get to NASA.  But, was fear the reason he left the house that day or the whispers from beyond that became impossible to ignore that warned him of the huge danger that lay ahead.  It was in the darkest hour that the guides and angels brought him messages and he ultimately listened. He chose the path of life and light instead of human ego.  

When we returned to our home the next morning, the roof was gone.  My parents’ bedroom, which was the last place that I had seen my father, had a huge tree that had fallen into it right across their bed and water from the bayou had risen to six feet inside of the house.  We saw small animals and snakes all over the house trying to find refuge from the storm.  Our dog, Whitie, who was not allowed at the shelter unbelievably survived but it would take many months for him to recover from the fear.  My heart still hurts to think of him in that condition.  However, at least he would eventually recover.  Our family never would.  Our paradise that my father thought was all we needed to find peace was not only gone, it also had become a burden of hardship which would be very difficult to overcome.  This difficulty or test for all of us was a dividing line of childhood similar to Hurricane Katrina that I would endure many years later.  However, with both hurricanes, I am where I am today because of a storm of sadness, regret, humbling, joy, patience, and shame. But I was never alone.  With each lesson, they were there my guides, angels and all of God’s energy from across the veil help.  me with each decision good or bad.  I know that now.  Don’t be afraid.  We are here.  Lift up your vibrations and love.

Your story is important in order to seek out the times that there are no other explanations for the times that you have not only survived but persevered in this lifetime.  Think back.  If you are still here, there are miracles and stories that have made that happen. 

You are meant to do great and wonderful things!!!  Jill