A Shelter in the Storm

“A typhoon is coming!” she muttered. Old Mrs. Lee sat down heavily on the rock beside the path, unwound the faded blue cloth at her waist, and began to wipe away the droplets of perspiration gathered on her face. It had been a hard pay, and she still had a long way to hobble on her small bound feet. The westering sun blazed relentlessly over the plain. Not a trace of a breeze ruffled the blanket of heat that lay heavy on the land.

She started to sing, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” but her mouth was too parched. Her cracked voice subsided, and she lapsed into a little breathless hum.

Early that morning she had left her crippled son, Kang, sitting on the doorsill of their hut, while she trudged to the market. Her stock of merchandise was the neat bundles of cloth shoes she carried in each hand. She was not a very tall person and she had joined the other country folk on their way to town that day.

To her surprise she had found the town abuzz with talk about a big storm sweeping inland from the eastern ocean. Mrs. Wang, a Christian friend, market basket over her arm, greeted her with the news: “It’s due here by tonight or tomorrow.” Then added sympathetically, “I hope you’ll be all right.” The Christians of the town church knew the dilapidated state of her home because they had been out there once for a cottage meeting.

The old lady shuffled on to where she conducted her simple business, part of a blanket at the side of the road. She rented this corner from Mrs. Lo who used the rest of the blanket for her own display of cotton goods. Mrs. Lo was a younger woman, and often she had one of her children with her.

“How can they be sure about the weather?” Mrs. Lee asked her friend.

“I don’t know, but my husband saw the notice on a piece of paper. It was posted on the wall of the police station. It warns of a great wind corning this way.”

“Times have changed indeed. It is a puzzle to me, but then I am just an ignorant old woman.”

Mrs. Lo did not dispute this fact but began to layout her goods in front of her, Business was slower than usual, A bean curd seller, Uncle Ho, came along and taunted old Mrs. Lee good- naturedly:

“Nobody wants new shoes when it is going to rain. They would just get soggy and break open at the seams the first day. You ought to be selling old shoes, and everybody would be sure to buy.”

“After the rain everyone will need new shoes, so I will just wait until then,” she replied. “Be sure and come back to buy a pair.”

“Who? Me? Do you take me for an official? Straw sandals are all that I can afford,” and off he sauntered.

In the lull that followed, Mrs. Lo turned to her elderly companion and said, “Old one, you ought to do something today about the roof of your house. Why, my husband is busy right now patching the tiles on our home. He says that he doesn’t want the storeroom flooded like the last time.”

“Yes, I was just thinking about buying some straw, for the thatch on my house is thin in many places. It leaks all over, but worse than that – the main beam has slipped out of its joint at one end, and it may come down at any time. It is right over the cook stove, so I look up at it when I make food and wonder how long it will last.”

“You’d better get some men to fix that before the storm comes. The typhoon has already destroyed many houses on the coast, and yours will collapse for sure!”

The old lady thoughtfully held the small roll of money in her hand. This was all the money she had. “I’ll go around town and see what straw I can buy. Then, too, I’ll ask s6me of my neighbors to help push that ridgepole back into place. Most of them are here at market today. Will it trouble you to watch over my wards while I’m gone?”

“Certainly not. It’s no trouble. You go right ahead, and may you be lucky.”

“No, no Mrs. Lo, it’s not luck. It is the Heavenly Father who looks after us. I wish that you would trust Him and His Son, Jesus Christ.” And old Mrs. Lee edged off down the street.

Some time later she came back to the roadside stand and took her seat beside Mrs. Lo once more. She pursed her lips and then shook her head.

“No help yet,” she said to Mrs. La’s look of inquiry. “It’s not the season for straw, and there’s not much available. With the threat of this storm it has sold out quickly, and at a great price. Three times the regular price.”

“My, what a profit! Well, there’s nothing you can do, but what about the beam?”

“Would you believe it? I must have talked to twenty of my neighbors about helping with the beam, and they all are busy with one thing or another. Such excuses! Still there must be a way. I know there is.”

Thus it was that she made the trip home, thinking a lot about her problems and praying to the Lord about them. At the halfway mark she sat down and thought some more. Doubts filled her mind. Had she tried hard enough to get help? Why had she put off getting the straw until now? Wasn’t she just an old fool? le only thing that gave her peace is to think about Jesus instead of herself. He knew. He understood her trouble. She would trust Him.

With a lighter heart she made the rest If the way home. Kang, her son, was waiting for her. His welcome rang out before her aging eyes could make out his form in the doorway. Of all the seven babies she had mothered only this one had lived. He had been sturdy as a youth. Then one day he had been forced to join the Chinese army and disappeared for a while. Only recently had he reappeared at home dressed in his patched military uniform, limping along with a crutch.
He was no longer useful as a soldier; so he was sent home. For her his return had been like a resurrection from the dead, and she daily thanked God for her son.

She hastened to tell Kang about the approaching storm. “The government sends messages like lightning, though how they do it, 1 don’t know. We are told to prepare for big winds. When 1 heard, 1 tried to buy straw to mend our leaks, but 1 couldn’t get any. Then 1 spoke to all our neighbors 1 could find, trying to get someone to help fix the center beam. It would only take them a short time, but, no, they all had an excuse.”

“I wish that I could get up and do something about it,” Kang said. Together they went into the house and looked up at the roof. Glimmers of light showed through in various spots. The son Suggested, “Let’s move our boxes up on the bed platform. I’ll bring the chickens in, too.”

“I better save what vegetables I can from the garden,” the old woman replied, and both began to collect their few possessions into the room opposite the kitchen and the misplaced beam.

Later as they sat down to a scanty supper of herbs and cooked rice, the weather changed abruptly, and the wind began to blow. Their nearest neighbor, Mr. Chang, appeared in the doorway.

“Hello,” he said, “you ought not stay in this house tonight, old lady Lee. you’ll get soaking wet, and besides it’s not safe.”

“Oh, Mr. Chang, would you help us get that beam straightened out? We have a pole here we can reach it with.” The old lady put down her bowl and chopsticks as though ready for action.

“1 couldn’t do it, old lady Lee. It would take several strong men. Look, why don’t you come over and spend the night at our house?”

“Yes,” chimed in Kang, “Why don’t you go, Ma? I’ll stay here and watch everything.”

“1 don’t want to go. If anything happened to you, you would be all alone. I’ll just stay and trust God to take care of us. Thank you, Mr. Chang.”

“Humph,” Mr. Chang exclaimed. “You are a strange one.” fie backed out and disappeared into the night.

Old Mrs. Lee folded her hands in her lap and raised her wrinkled face upwards. “Lord,” she prayed, “Lord, You know I tried everything I could do. I tried to buy the straw and couldn’t. I tried to find a man to fix that beam, and they were all unwilling. I don’t think that I should leave Kang here alone. Now Lord, I plead with You to take care of the roof tonight. Pity Your children and care for us. For Jesus’ sake, Amen.”

Across from her in the shadows Kang added his “Amen,” too, and very thankful he was to have a mother with such confidence in God’s help.

The storm increased in intensity, and gusts shook the bamboo frame of the house. The two of them retread to the bed platform. It was so cluttered with all their possessions that they did not have much room to lie down. Outside, the bamboo trees creaked and groaned as they were flailed about. Would the roof hold as it strained and heaved?

Suddenly there was a grinding sound and a loud thump, but the roof did not fall. ‘They were both praying now, Kang having formed some prayers of his own in the desperation of the moment. When the wind let up a little, he lit a candle and peered fearfully upward. By the, feeble flicker he saw the beam – it was there, and when he strained his eyes he saw that the wind had shaken the beam back into its socket again rather than bringing it down!
“Praise the Lord!” said the lady when she saw what happened. A warm sense of peace folded them both. The wind might howl, but it had helped them.

Later the rain came as a flood. They could hear the streams of water pouring down outside, but strangely there were no drips within. Kang went around from time to time to find out what leaks there were, but everywhere the earth floor was dry.

“Ma,” he said, “1 can’t understand it. There aren’t any leaks. We have a leaky roof, but it doesn’t leak.”

“Praise the Lord!” she replied. “This is very wonderful. God is taking care of us.”

Across the plain thousands of families cowered in their homes, fearful of the night and the power of the storm. When the morning dawned it was still drizzling and the countryside was a mess of mud and water. Kang stepped gingerly outside and looked up at the roof. “Ma,” he called, “Come and see!”

Together they looked in wonder at what the wind had done. The roof was padded with large wads of new straw. Some had blown across from neighbor Chang’s thick roof and plugged the holes in theirs!
Without a word Kang began to hobble across to Chang’s house to tell the news, but halfway there he turned with a grin on his face and waved to his mother. Her face crinkled with smiles, and then she went in. She must light the fire to make breakfast. As bits of dried leaves and twigs lit under the old cooking pot, the smoke from the clay stove blinded her wit] tears. “Praise the Lord,” she said in thin whisper and brushed the tears away.