It’s Sunday night and Chris and I are en route from Charlottesville to Atlanta. We were supposed to leave Monday morning, but Delta urged us to move our flight in preparation for Irma. We’re flying into the storm, which feels counterintuitive, as warnings of 70 mile per hour winds pop up on our phones.
We don’t know what tomorrow holds for us. Will we have power? Will trees fall? Will our old, rickety windows make it through the storm? As nervous as we are, I can only begin to imagine how the residents of Florida and Houston must have felt as they left their homes and belongings, unsure if they’d ever see them again.
I did this a lot when we were engaged. I was so, superly blissed out about marrying Chris that I’d start to feel panicked. I’d imagine car accidents and terminal illnesses and horrible life-altering events. I thought if I could get control of my overly ecstatic state, perhaps, if something did happen, it wouldn’t be so terrible.
But we all know there’s no truth in this. You can never emotionally prepare for a horrible storm in your life. You can’t brace for impact when it comes to matters of the heart.
As Chris and I head into our final week in Georgia, I’m practicing moving with the rhythm of the world a little more easily. I’m sinking into the joy of the season and opening my arms to what is to come. I’m taking more deep breaths, holding his hand a little tighter and trusting that our path is unfolding exactly as it should.
Sending love and prayers to our neighbors in Florida.