In His Hands

Hurricane Ike has gone, leaving much destruction in its path. We live in a "mandatory evacuation" zone. I never felt threatened, though we did leave. We left mostly out of the need for comfort since we won't have electricity for a week or two. We'll return home tomorrow. Family and neighbors have checked on our home, and all is well except the loss of our fence, which we fully expected. We needed a new one anyway. And we lost a hibiscus, which we had talked about pulling up and replacing, also.

We were very fortunate, unlike many others. It's strange, though, that I never felt in any danger whatsoever. I'm sure I seemed nonchalant, but I have been completely calm and unworried through this whole thing. There is only one explanation.

I wrote this poem for the prompt at Matinee' Muse "In the Wrong Hands." (The prompt is based on the new Coen brothers' movie, Burn After Reading, but my contribution has nothing to do with the movie, which we just saw tonight.) I believe this poem explains my feeling of peace all through this Ike crisis. Thank you, God, for giving me assurance.


In the wrong hands, it could have been so much worse.
More frightening.
More costly,
More deadly.

In the wrong hands, we could have suffered much loss.
Personal safety,
Property,
Loved ones.

In the wrong hands, I might be crying now.
Wringing my hands,
Wondering why,
Worrying.

But in His hands, we are safe.
Protected,
Encouraged,
Blessed.