I can think now.
The constant bumps and thumps, the rhythmic pounding from morning until four or five in the afternoon—an entire week of it—is finally over. Now I can meditate and mull over the way God supplies, the way He works all things together for good to those He loves and calls.
This is the second roof God has given us via weather related phenomena. The first one was in 2002, shortly after we’d returned to Miracle Hill Farm. It was spring. I’d just finished planting all my little vegetables. I remember gazing at the results of my sore, tired muscles…satisfied.
Then the storm came. Rain and wind at first, then hail. Tiny pea-sized ice-stones bounced and rattled—short-lived—maybe not too bad. I can remember hurrying outside to inspect the damage, breathing a sigh of relief that most of the seedlings appeared only a bit worse for the wear. Good.
About twenty minutes later, though, round two rolled in. It started much the same as before, but then, it was almost as if the dark skies exploded. The air was white with ice, a thick curtain of destruction that went on and on and on.
When it was over, the ground was covered with mounds of dazzling devastation. I didn’t even bother to check my plants. I knew they were gone. I could look at the bare trees and bushes to know that with certainty.
Sun returned, causing steam to rise in ghostly wisps. We had to use the snow shovel to clear the driveway so we could go into town.
When we returned an hour or so later, most of the ice had melted. Pulverized leaves from the now-naked trees, coated every surface… nature-made mulch, two to three inches deep in places. I’d lost my garden, but once I contacted the insurance agency, gained a new roof.
Fast forward fifteen years: Another storm. This time, at night. I’m by myself. My husband is out of town. Wind screeches, swirling and bending trees in a terrifying dance. Thick veins of lighting fork across the sky, followed by window-rattling thunder. I wait—tense—expecting a tree to divide my house. A different crash startles me, but it’s so dark I can’t see the cause. After an hour or more, the storm tapers off. I decide to wait until daylight to investigate.
The next morning I survey the damage. My arbor—support for two clematis plants on either side of the brick sidewalk—is in a jumbled pile, flattened. Shingles litter the yard. They’re everywhere! A call to my insurance company soon has their man thumping overhead. His verdict? A new roof, which they’ll cover in its entirety.
God is so good. He’s supplied not one, but two roofs for us via storms. Sometimes you have to peer over the waves to see God’s blessing.