I have a theory that the natural disaster you fear the most is the one least likely to occur in your natural habitat. My late mother-in-law, Lula, and I proved my theory true. Her natural habitat was California, and she lived in Beaumont, CA, when we were first married—the site of my very first earthquake.

I woke up when the bed shifted. “The bed moved,” I poked my still sleeping spouse. “Wake up. Why did the bed just move?” Now awake, Wil pointed out the swaying chandelier, the askew pictures on the wall and the books sliding off the nightstand. “It’s an earthquake,” he calmly answered my question.

An earthquake? Where do we go for shelter? His mom lived in a prefab mobile home with no basement (emphasis added by this Michigan native). My husband got out of bed to check on his mom, and I followed—taking baby steps across the slightly moving floor while trying to hang onto something that wasn’t moving. The ground is not supposed to move under one’s feet.

According to my mother-in-law and her son this was a minor earthquake—nothing to fear. It bears repeating, however, that ground is not supposed to move under one’s feet.

On the other hand, a Midwest summer thunderstorm was enough to rattle my mother-in-law from 2,000 miles away. She called during one such storm. I put her on speaker phone to chat.

“What was that?” Lula asked at the same time I said, “Wow! That was close.” Lightning flashed outside, followed by a loud thunderclap that she heard over the phone.

“Oh, nothing, just a thunderstorm.”

Earthquake, thunderstorm, you say to-mae-to, I say to-mah-to.

As much as I don’t like natural disasters, at least I have an emergency preparedness plan and obnoxious alerts on every device in the house, warning me to take shelter immediately, or sooner than later.

There are disasters of another sort—the kind that come with no warning and shake me to the core. Disasters that blow in and blow out, leaving fear and uncertainty in their wake. Much like the disaster we’re going through with a dearly loved family member, and if I had it my way, should have been over long ago like minor earthquakes and summer thunderstorms. Instead, each phone call or message from him is another reminder that the disaster hasn’t passed.

And then I read King David’s preparedness plan in Psalm 57:1, “Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed.”

Tim Keller, in his book The Songs of Jesus: A Year of Daily Devotions in the Psalms explains David’s plan. He describes David as surrounded by danger as if by roaring beasts (Psalm 57:4) and crying out to God for help—and in the middle of this, Keller writes that David “suddenly simply praises God, ‘Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; let your glory be over all the earth.' Deeper than disaster, danger, and distress is the desire for God to be glorified. If that can be accomplished by saving us from our circumstances, then praise God! If it is better accomplished by our circumstances remaining unchanged while we continue to show our confidence in God before the watching world, praise God as well.”

I continue to shelter in place under the shadow of God’s wing, but I venture out, baby step at a time, to that watching world so it can see that I am holding on to the only sure and steadfast One, whose glory is over all the earth.