I woke in the inky darkness to the wind’s furious whipping outside my window. The power had finally gone out after flickered warnings through the evening and the house was now eerily still compared to the howling outside. At each powerful gust, I braced for limbs that cracked and crashed to the ground outside.

I stepped around my kids scattered on mattresses around the living room. How could they sleep so peacefully through this storm? It had been like a holiday for them – days off school, postponed homework and a pantry of hurricane snacks.

For a week, we’d been tracking the biggest hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic. We’d waited in long lines to stock up on gasoline and water. We’d studied the projected path, prepping to stay while weighing whether to evacuate.

“O, Lord! I don’t want this storm,” I had prayed, hoping it would take a sharp turn to the east and spin off into the ocean.

Despite my prayers, the storm was now here.

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