A Place of Refuge

As hurricane season returns, Ivonne J. Hernandez recalls how God’s blessings shone through one fierce storm.

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. They waited, wanting to hear our story. Did our house survive the storm? Had we heard from our family back home? They wanted to do something for us. 

Heading Into the Unknown 

Four days before, we had boarded up our home, packed our belongings, loaded up the RV, and driven 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 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 in 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 were safe, though some had different levels of damage to their homes. I found myself once again glued to the news, trying to get a good picture of the situation and figuring out when it would be safe to start the trek back home.  

The Grace of Recognition 

I remember watching the news coverage and recognizing the flooded streets. I knew those places. Though I did not recognize all the faces, I saw my neighbors. The phrase “hits close to home” took on a new level of meaning — this was personal … this was close … this was 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, and 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 25:4a) 

A Refuge for My Soul 

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. 

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Copyright 2025 Ivonne J. Hernandez
Images: (center) copyright 2025 Ivonne J. Hernandez, all rights reserved; (top, bottom) Canva

This article was first published in the Elisheba Blog. It is published here with permission.