Don’t. Push. The. Button. January 14

I’m used to my phone going off with alarm alerts. Rainy place like this, we get flash flood warnings all the time for the “mauka” regions of the island. Those places uphill get a lot more rain and we all share their flash flood warnings.

Even when they aren’t flooding either. Someone just likes their button pushing job.

When my phone went all red alert I pushed the notice away almost before I read it. I read the thought conveyed. I denied it until I understood it.

Then I panicked because I know there’s no place to go to avoid a nuke if it drops on our heads.

Then I sucked up the panic because there are six people here who would do very well to have me calm.

We crowded into the bathroom downstairs. It’s the only room without windows.

And we waited.

It was closing in on seven days, to the hour.

I was cooking Mac n cheese n hotdogs for the kids. My phone rang with an unsaved Hawaii number. It does that a lot with special offers from recorded voices for my car warranty or credit card or whatever they keep trying to sell after I hang up.

I look five minutes later and the same number has called back seven times. Desiree has called twice. I call and it’s the doctor and she’s already talking with Desiree who is at a baby shower.

She comes home in tears, and I already know.

I spent seven days wishing that the call we got was as erroneous as the message on all of our phones in Hawaii.

I spent my time in the bathroom believing what had been texted, because denial is no longer an option after the week I just had.

I try to tell Peter that the reason we were in the bathroom is because a bad man far away is being very unsafe with his weapons. He asks me if they’re going to stop him. I want to explain that no, instead everyone is going to blame our president for us being scared because stupidity is easier to embrace than reality sometimes.

But “stupid” is a potty word in our house.

So I said that there’s lots of police that are working on him day and night.

Peter asks if Leo is better. His mommy explains that there’s bad blood inside of Leo and that the doctors are sending in super hero blood to fight the bad blood, but it’s going to take a long time to win.

That’s right, kids, communism is cancer.

My biggest joy in the closing hours of the longest seven days of my life is that we were all together if we had to be in our last moments. And that was enough.

I challenge you to find one singular event to so completely inspire an entire island of a million people to evaluate their lives and truly consider their direction and momentum. I sure did.

After seven days of hell and heaven’s rescue, I’m happy with my life.

THAT is why I know God is good.

Categories: Leo

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