A Place of Refuge

By: Ivonne J. Hernandez

The tables were overflowing with canned goods, toiletries, and water bottles. A few feet away, boxes of donuts, breakfast sandwiches, and hot coffee waited for us. Smiling strangers welcomed us as we walked into this last-minute reception. We got a call the previous night saying that the community had heard they were hosting evacuees from Hurricane Milton and they were organizing a breakfast for us. “Where are you coming from?”… “Tampa,” we said. Their faces were moved with concern and compassion, waiting, wanting to hear our story… Did our house survive the storm? Have we heard from our family back home? They wanted to do something for us.

Four days before, we had boarded up our home, packed our belongings, loaded up the RV, and drove North. After days of praying and deliberating, we decided this was the right course of action for us. After two long days on the road, we arrived at our temporary home. An RV park in Alabama that welcomed evacuees from the storm at no cost. Not knowing what would happen, we needed the flexibility of an open-ended stay, a safe place to wait, a refuge from the storm. One of our sons stayed behind in Florida, so my body was here, safe, but a piece of my heart was back home.

The day the storm was set to make landfall was spent glued to the news, watching every wobble and bump. This was personal.  A Category 5 hurricane was on a direct path to our home. As I zoomed on the map and followed the dark line of its projected path, I knew the names of the streets. I knew where my family and friends lived. Streets I drove through every week, a concert hall I had sung in just the previous week, all in the path of this storm. I prayed everyone had found a safe place to shelter as we watched and waited for this terrible storm. Thankfully, our home was spared and so was our son’s. Our friends and family are safe, though some have different levels of damage to their homes. I find myself once again glued to the news, trying to get a good picture of the situation and figuring out when it is safe to start the trek back home. I see the flooded streets, and I know the places. Though I do not recognize all the faces, I see my neighbors. The phrase “hits close to home” takes on a new level of understanding… this is personal… this is close… this is home.

And I think of how this is with God. How He is with us in our suffering, because in Him, each one of our storms hits close to home. He knows our names, he knows each street we have walked on. He knows when our hearts are weary and heavy and burdened, and He wants to comfort us. 

“For you have been a refuge to the poor, a refuge to the needy in their distress.” (Isaiah 25:4)
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When I walked into this unplanned reception prepared by strangers trying to comfort us, my heart was moved and I felt God’s love. I didn’t know how much stress I was carrying until someone offered to take a load off my shoulders. The kindness of strangers at a moment like this was a healing balm for my soul; their hearts were a place of refuge in the storm. May God bless them and protect them as they navigate their own storms. May they find friends and strangers to help them carry their loads. May we be Christ to each other on our journey home.

Ivonne J. Hernandez

Ivonne is a Catholic wife, mother, Lay Associate of the Blessed Sacrament, and President of Elisheba House. She is also a speaker and writer, with her book The Rosary: Eucharistic Meditations to her name. Ivonne regularly contributes to CatholicMom.com and the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament's Daily Eucharistic Reflection. Her writing has also appeared in publications such as Emmanuel Publishing and Shalom Magazine. Alongside her husband, Rick Hernandez, she coordinates the RCIA program at their home parish. A lover of choral music, Ivonne is a member of the Master Chorale of Tampa Bay. She and her husband live in Trinity, FL, with two of their young adult sons.