When the Storm Came

Life has a way of reminding us that even the best-laid plans can change in an instant. The next two weeks would prove that once again.

In late January of 2026, a massive winter storm swept across the region. What began as rain quickly turned into freezing rain and sleet as an arctic cold front pushed through East Texas.

Temperatures that had been in the 50s and 60s plunged rapidly into the low teens, with some nights dipping into the single digits. Wind chills dropped well below zero across the region, and for several days many areas never climbed above freezing.

The ice was relentless.

Reports across East Texas showed more than an inch of ice accumulation, turning roads into what many described as skating rinks. Trees bent and snapped under the weight. More than 100,000 homes across Texas and Louisiana lost power during the first wave of the storm.

It was a harsh reminder that nature still has the final word.

And I was not immune to its effects.

Since the remodel had begun, the house no longer had central heat or air. My little living space had been reduced to a corner of the back of the house—a small, makeshift apartment where I slept, worked, and tried to stay warm.

Thankfully, two small floor heaters had been faithfully doing their job. And my generator proved just as reliable.

Because travel during the storm wasn’t really possible, I hunkered down in my office and focused on the many creative pieces still needed for My Father’s House.

I worked on refining the logo, designing the signature journals I hope guests will one day use, and creating content for the website and future retreats. Dreaming and building those pieces helped the long, cold days move more quickly.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the disappointment that once again the construction momentum had come to a standstill. Just when things had begun moving again… everything paused.

One afternoon, after bundling myself in every warm layer I owned, I decided to take a quick walk around the property. It was bitterly cold. Even with all the layers, ten minutes was about the maximum amount of time I could tolerate outside.

Soon I was back inside at my desk. I had just settled in to continue working when I suddenly heard something strange.

A loud rushing sound.

At first, I paused, trying to figure out what I was hearing. It sounded like water—but far louder than a drip or small leak.

I walked toward the hallway door and opened it. The sound intensified immediately.

As I stepped around the corner, my heart dropped.

Water wasn’t dripping.

It was gushing.

A pipe in the master bedroom had burst, and water was shooting out at full force—directly toward the door of the room where I had stored nearly everything I owned during the remodel. Clothes. Furniture. Dishes. Boxes of valuables. All the things I had carefully protected to move into the finished home.

And the water was aimed straight at it.

Panic set in.

I ran back to my room to throw on warm clothes, my mind racing. I had no idea how to stop it.

I called my brother.

No answer.

I called my neighbor.

No answer.

Somewhere outside, there was a water shutoff valve, but everything outside was buried under inches of ice, sleet, and snow. I had no idea where it was or how I would even find it.

Finally, I called my general contractor. He had installed cameras outside the house to monitor the construction, and from his view, he tried coaching me over the phone as I attempted to break through the ice to locate the valve.

Armed with a wrench, I began hacking at the frozen ground, trying to break through the thick ice.

Thirty minutes passed like that. I was freezing, exhausted, and terrified about what might be happening inside the house while the water continued to gush.

Finally, my neighbors saw my message and rushed over. Not a moment too soon.

They immediately took over breaking through the ice while also calling the director of the local water company—who, thankfully, they had a personal number for. Suddenly, we had voices coming through multiple phones: my brother offering suggestions, the water director guiding us, and my general contractor still helping from afar.

Then it occurred to me to call the plumbers. They had turned the water on and off several times during the previous weeks of construction. Surely they would know where the valve was.

With their coaching, we finally found it.

The water was turned off.

Relief washed over all of us.

But I was still afraid to open the door to the room where my belongings were stored. Nearly an hour of high-pressure water had been shooting directly toward it. I was certain everything would be ruined.

But when I finally stepped inside…

Not a single drop had entered the room.

Even though the pipe had been aimed directly at the doorway, the water had somehow flowed the opposite direction down the hallway. And the board my neighbor had placed to redirect the water?

It was resting directly over the spot where the plumbers had pointed out a cross in the concrete only weeks earlier.

A reminder that God was present.

It was nothing short of a miracle.

Not only had the Lord protected what was inside that room, He had also surrounded me with the exact people needed in that moment.

Community matters. We are not meant to face life’s unexpected moments alone.

Because travel during the storm was nearly impossible, I was without running water for the next three days. But once again, my neighbors stepped in with kindness and generosity—bringing large containers of water and even allowing me to come to their home for a much-needed hot shower.

You never quite know what life will bring.

But when your eyes remain fixed on Jesus, you begin to see how faithfully He moves through the people around you, the timing of events, and even the smallest details. He truly is masterful at doing what only He can do.

And once again, in the middle of the unexpected, He showed Himself faithful.