Fourteen hours and the last half of a Milky Way later, I am still in the dark. Completely in the dark.

I know. Power outage. My phone isn’t working, the lights are out, and my cell phone looks like it has about 10% battery left. Dang.

I’ve had to pee in the corner already, and I can’t stand the smell. I thought I would get used to it, but the acrid puddle fills the small space with more stink than something so small should be able to produce.

I am tired, but I have not been able to sleep. It is just too creepy.

I tried yelling for help, but it seems everyone else was out of the building or nowhere near the elevator when I called out. Not that there were too many to hear me in the first place, but for Pete’s sake, you would think someone would have brains enough to check and make sure nobody was stuck in the shaft.

I plunked down, crossed my arms, and steamed for a while. No cell service. Are you kidding? My cell is an extension of my being. I don’t know how I ever survived without it.

Thankful for the warm autumn weather, I bundled my coat under me, right onto the very dirty floor. Straight to the dry cleaner after this. I want to sleep so badly, but I am stressed.

What if no one comes all weekend? Will my children even know how to contact authorities and tell them where I might be without a phone? What if they don’t figure out what to eat? What if all the food in the freezer melts? What if I have to do a number two? What if I die of hunger?

I am so hungry, but I am more stressed than hungry. I really need to get out of here.

I resign myself to lying down. Maybe this will calm me. Breathe deep.
Worrying, panicking, stressing. These things are doing nothing for me, here in the dark.

I want to look at my phone to see the time again, but I don’t want to use up whatever little battery there is, so I just drift. And drift.

I pray for a long time. I like it when I can just talk to God without any interruptions. There are always interruptions, but not today. Only my stress tries to creep its way into my conversation.

Stress is the biggest interruptor of my prayer time, but I have come to realize it is only when I allow it to. I have control over the panic rather than the other way around. But it is a strong and relentless fighter.

So am I.

My dad always said, “Good luck to the one who sets his wits against yours.” I guess this is the moment of truth.

Back to praying.

Oh God. Please make sure the children have enough sense to go to a neighbour’s house and seek food and supervision. Please make sure there are no old people locked in elevators elsewhere, like I am right now. Please make sure people are looking for anyone who could be stuck like I am right now. Please, please, please send someone to find me.

I miss Daddy. He always knew what to do. He would be calm, almost chuckle at me, and say, “Why are you worrying, SweetPea?”

I need him.

It has been too long since I have heard his voice. Too long since I felt his tender hand on my shoulder with a quick, reassuring squeeze. Too long since I could call him spontaneously to ask him about the movie that was playing, or who that singer was, or what happened when.

He just seemed to know everything. Maybe most girls feel that way.

Daddy always knew the right thing to say and do. Logic to calm my emotion. Thinking to calm my anxiety. A warm hand with a tissue to dry my tears. And love. Always love, oozing over in uncuttable measure.

I miss his love so much.

I need to know my kids are okay.

Dear God, please make sure they are not scared. Make sure they think of the good things and know I am probably just stuck in an elevator after work. They are so innocent. Please don’t let them worry about me. Please don’t let them be hungry, panicked, or scared. I need to know they are okay.

And then I feel it.

A warm, spilling feeling falls over me, like the warmth of fragrant oil. Peace, warmth, love, calm, and faith all at once wash through me.

God is with me. He is here. I knew He would be.

He is with my children, too, and this is His way of reminding me that He holds it all in His hands.

I smile in the dark.

The beauty of the moment fills me as I smile like a young kid at the movies in the dark with an ear-to-ear grin. How could I be any happier? There is no panic. There is no worry. There is no fear.

God is with me and has taken care of my children.

I drift and drift with that silly, simple smile on my face.

He loves me. He is with my children. All is well.

I wake up to voices. Maybe minutes later, maybe hours later, but someone is calling my name over and over.

I am here!!!!

I am driven home after the doors of the elevator are peeled open, thankfully, blissfully home.

Morning has finally come, and I can see my neighbour in the front yard with my children.

They seem happy and don’t notice the security car delivering me home.
As I pull into the driveway, all three look at me at once.

My daughter, just seven years old, starts to cry.

My middle one comes up to me silently and hugs me hard and tight, holding back his tears. His little chin is shaking, and his tender tears always make me think of him as a little lamb.

My youngest, the toughest of the bunch, well… he is our little fighter. I see tears well up for a brief moment, then he coils up with his face all tightened and starts to yell at me.

“Where were you???? Where have you been???? Did you know we had to sleep at Wendy’s last night??? We thought that you were dead!!!! Do you know we were so scared for you that we prayed and prayed???? Why didn’t you come home?? Why weren’t you here for us?? Why didn’t you call us???”

Home is home is home.

I wrap all three of them in my arms.

My dear God, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

This love is more precious than life itself.

I choke up at the huge emotion that comes from their beautiful little faces and the love that wraps around me.

I lift my head toward Heaven for a moment of thanks.

And I smile.