During the night I saw that our electric bedroom clock had a black face, and having heard the forecast, I knew–at least I suspected. The unusual May storm had moved down the coast and was now pounding our dry, hungry area, and when I peered through the bathroom window I saw that our gardens were covered with snow. The great winds and heavy snow had somewhere caused a tree to fall into electrical lines, and “the power won’t be back on until 11:00 this morning,” said Bill when Jerry called to check on him after we first got up. Bill is our astonishing 94-year-old next door neighbor.
Looking out our dining room window, and across Lake Gregory, we saw this incredible scene, one my eyes never tire of seeing..
The coffee situation was of prime concern, and soon found me with both knees flat on the floor, my head stuck into a bottom-most cupboard. I hauled out pots and pans, then finally from the very back, I drew the prize. The ancient dented drip style coffee pot had rumbled around in all our motor homes, where on small burners it would gurgle and fuss, as among the steaminess it wafted out scents of brewing coffee. In addition to serving within the motor homes, it had treated us and our friends well at many a camp fire across the country. On the upper counter in my kitchen were two fine coffeepot specimens, a Keurig, and a Cuisinart, but although clothed in fine stainless steel attire, and wearing fancy knobs and boasting of superior settings, they both were helpless. Battered pot to the rescue!
As it was 30 degrees outside, warmth was a consideration, for our furnace, though gas, requires electricity to operate. Throughout the day–for the electricity actually was not restored until a few minutes after 7:00 in the evening–Jerry carried up loads of wood and kept a fire roaring.
. . .and Winston loved it when I wrapped a soft blanket around him.
I pulled on boots and Winston and I nosed around in the back where I saw that our plum tree was so weighted with snow that its top branch had bent until it touched the ground, as did our largest lilac bush. Two plum branches had broken off completely. But the snowy scene was stunningly beautiful. I admired frozen water drops on green stems, flower blossoms that were encased in ice, and other snowy forms and images.
I missed the light, though, and throughout the day I thought of distressed people in Nepal and of those who have never known electric lights, and of tribes who would stare with wonder at a microwave oven, or at a washing machine, or at the screen of a computer.
I remembered that Jesus is the light of the world, and reflected on the dominance and far-reaching considerations of that thought.
Shirley Buxton 