Ten years ago, in early autumn of 2012, we made our first trip to Ft. Myers, Florida. My brother-in-law and his wife had purchased a mobile home in one of the many “55+ communities,” and they offered it to us for a week’s vacation.
As soon as possible after landing at the international airport, we got the rental car, drove to the mobile home park to drop our things, and headed to Ft. Myers Beach—about four miles away.
It was early evening, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and we were eager to catch the sunset on our first evening. From the peak of the bridge that connects the mainland to the island, we were struck by the expansive, sweeping view of the gulf, as well as the island itself.
Quickly, though, we wanted to find a place to park so we could walk to the beach, put our feet in the sand, and wait for the sun to drop below the horizon.
Almost every conceivable parking space on Ft. Myers Beach requires payment of some kind, but we finally found an empty church parking lot that seemed welcoming enough, just on the other side of the road from the beach.
We made it just in time to capture the first of many stunning sunsets.
What became a daily ritual, the next afternoon we again made the four-mile trek to the beach. The sky was Florida blue with large, puffy clouds occasionally providing momentary respite from the hot sun. During the time of year we were there—late September—the crowds were thin. We parked our chairs just a dozen yards or so from the pier.
And I’m glad we did.
In typical Florida fashion, an afternoon thunderstorm seemed to be taking shape to the south. I checked the weather map, and, sure enough, a pretty good one looked like it might make its way where we were. Minutes later, the wind kicked up…the sky darkened.
We hurriedly packed our things together and ran for cover under the pier. It proved to be a most inadequate shelter! The clouds burst forth in a torrential downpour; the powerful winds drove the rain under the pier from both sides.
We were drenched! It might have been tempting, drenched and all, to just load our stuff in the car and leave. But I’m glad we didn’t.
Within ten minutes, the storm was over. The rain quickly let up; the winds died down; the storm moved to the north and out into the gulf. And the sun and sky put on a dazzling display that we’ve never forgotten!
Not right away, though. Gradually, as the storm moved out to sea, the clouds began to break up, opening holes in the sky. In most dramatic fashion, sunrays pierced the clouds and took our breath away.
The Ft. Myers gulf coast welcomed us warmly.
Over the following several days, we looked forward to a daily walk along the beach, discovering a favorite restaurant or two along the way. The Pierside Grille, located right next to the pier, was especially fun. Sitting outside a few feet from the water while we enjoyed a snack and the steel drums seemed the perfect setting.
We’d heard Sanibel Island was ideal for shelling, not to mention biking. So, on a couple of days we paid the fee to cross the bridge and spent our time exploring the island. Indeed, we discovered beaches piled with millions of shells to sift through.
We wore ourselves out on an afternoon bike ride, rewarded with a generous helping of ice cream. We drove to the end of Sanibel and crossed the short bridge to Captiva where we were wowed by the multi-million-dollar mansions.
The evenings ended with dinner from some one-of-a-kind island restaurant.
That was 2012. Since then, we’ve returned to Ft. Myers on three other occasions, the last was a three-week visit in 2020. Each visit took us back to favorite places discovered on our first trip—places that, to us, became synonymous with the place.
Which explains why Hurricane Ian was so painful for us.
Disasters like tornadoes and hurricanes are always far more significant if they’re personal, right?
Ian certainly was for us.
In the first place, the storm caused some significant damage to my brother-in-law’s place. Though four miles from the coast, his mobile home still received a couple feet of water inside and left behind a few inches of mud throughout. They’ll spend a small fortune in repairs, to be sure. We hurt deeply for them, for their loss, for the countless hours of work ahead.
Then, every place that was special to us from our three visits is gone. Not just damaged. Gone!
That special restaurant by the pier?
Gone.
The pier?
Gone.
“Times Square”—the Ft. Myers Beach shopping hub.
Gone.
The bridge to Sanibel and Captivia?
Gone.
Were we be able to travel to Ft Myers next week, we wouldn’t recognize the place.
So, Hurricane Ian hit us quite a bit differently than any other hurricane—ever. It was much more personal. Having said that, the personal impact, though real to us and heartfelt, pales in comparison to the thousands of people who make Lee County, Florida, their home. I can’t begin to imagine what so many are going through as they try to rebuild their homes and livelihood after such a devastating event.
Nevertheless, Ian did hit us.
Interestingly, a few weeks back I was talking with someone about the relative safety of the Gulf Coast when it comes to hurricanes. I opined that it’s rare for a hurricane to make a full frontal attack on the west coast. Usually, the storms come from the Atlantic, and they may come around the southern tip of Florida, but then amble up the west coast out in the gulf. They may blast the panhandle, but usually avoid the west coast.
Didn’t take much to prove me wrong.
All of this reminds me of how tentative our sense of security can be.
Scores of Ft. Myers Beach residents have lived there for years, never seeing the kind of devastation Ian caused. They felt that, yes, a storm will be rough, but it couldn’t be that bad, could it? Surely, they could ride out this one as they have in the past, right?
Undoubtedly, some lost their lives riding out the storm. Nearly everyone with a one-story home lost it.
I remember walking across the bridge from Ft. Myers Beach to a parking area on the mainland. From that vantage point, one can easily see scores of mobile homes in a park on San Carlos Island. I wondered to myself how these places would fare if a hurricane hit head on. We found out last week. The park was decimated.
I reflected on the Sanibel and Captiva mansions. Owners with their millions surely thought they could buy security and safety for their impressive property. But it was no match for the wall of water that destroyed the luxury vacation homes and cut off their island from the rest of civilization.
Even before Ian set its sights on the Ft. Myers area, trusted authorities from the state government and National Hurricane Center were tracking the storm. Their job: give ample warning so people can make their way to safety. But their expertise proved insufficient. Two days before landfall, few expected it to destroy Ft. Myers Beach.
Clearly, we can’t look to our structures, our wealth, our government, or even our wits to provide security. All those will prove futile, leaving us with tremendous cleanup and expense.
The psalmist, though, gives us sound advice.
I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken. Therefore, my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure.
– Psalm 16:8-9
In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.
– Psalm 4:8
True safety, lasting security, is experienced by those who trust deeply in the Lord—even if everything in this life us yanked out from under them.
I’ve also been reminded that we simply can’t look to this-life experiences to provide lasting joy and satisfaction. The places we love, the experiences we’ve enjoyed, they may offer a temporal sense of joy and pleasure—and the Lord does give us richly all things to enjoy! But they’re transient…they pass away, perhaps in a matter of hours as a wall of seawater washes them out to sea.
The “preacher” in Ecclesiastes learned that lesson the hard way. He had the resources to find pleasure in just about anything he wanted—experiences, possessions, gardens, homes, you name it (you can read of his catalog of pleasure in chapter 2). And he did find some, for sure.
But in the end? Here’s his conclusion:
And whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I kept my heart from no pleasure, for my heart found pleasure in all my toil, and this was my reward for all my toil. Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.
– Ecclesiastes 2:10-11
And he didn’t even lose it all in a natural disaster!
So clearly, we have to look elsewhere for pleasure that transcends this life’s vicissitudes. Where do we find it?
Once again, the psalmist helps us:
You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. – Psalm 16:11
So in the grief and heartache I rightly felt in the aftermath of Ian, God has graciously reminded me once again that paradise isn’t found on the Gulf coast. It’s found in Him!
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