The Storm Home

Bill and Peggy lived close by the bend in the river. When the stream would rise and flood the banks the force of the swollen waters shoving through the curve would toss up all manner of debris on their doorstep. Peggy and Bill would hear it banging against their house and instead of tossing it back they would drag it in half-drowned. Of course, the river I am describing was the flow of a turbulent world in troubled times and the debris was people - young and old alike. For the young, they were lost souls, homeless, abandoned and disillusioned. The old were addicts, alcoholics and those who had abandoned their hopes and wasted their health. Many were the result of broken families while others had landed there through their own rebellion and bad choices. All of them were looking for shelter from the storm. I know I was when we first met. I was seventeen and an angry young man who showed up at their Bible study hoping to cause problems and dissension. The local church leaders had told Bill and Peggy they should discourage people like me from attending if they wanted to have a successful group. They did just the opposite. They drew me in out of the flood.

Garrison Keillor wrote about the time in his life when his school principal assigned each student from the country a “storm home” in town in the event a winter blizzard would strand them. If a blizzard struck, each child was to go to his or her storm home. “Mine was the Kloeckls’. This was a kindly old couple who lived in a little green cottage down by the lake, with everything so neat and delicate . . . It looked like the kind of home that if you were a child lost in a dark forest and suddenly came upon it in a clearing, you would know that you were lucky to be in a story with a happy ending.” There were no blizzards that year but, Keillor explained, “blizzards aren’t the only storms and not the worst by any means. But if the worst should come, I always knew I could go to the Kloeckls and knock on their door.”

There could not be a better description of Bill and Peggy’s home for so many of us during the blizzards in our lives. It was as if they had been told ahead of time we would be coming so they were prepared and never surprised or put off by our showing up. Some came for days but there were more than a few who stayed in their home for years. Bill and Peggy even built an addition to accommodate their growing number of rescues. Some came and went while a fortunate few became close friends. Too many moved on like the nine ungrateful lepers without a word of thanks but some returned over the course of their salvaged lives to show their appreciation for the couple who took them in when they washed up at their front door. We were all storm children.

In time, in spite of the differences in age, Bill and Peggy became our best friends. They introduced us to the Low Country and Pawleys Island, South Carolina where we have spent family vacations for over forty years. They brought our family many times to their home in the mountains of North Carolina. It was there we discovered we would have our first child after years of infertility. It was in their home where she took her first steps.  I introduced Bill to Bob Dylan and jug band music. He introduced me to C.S. Lewis and then to Christ. Their marriage was the ideal model for our own. Bill’s devotion to Peggy was a standard I have not met but he never failed to remind me of my commitment to the treasure she is in my life. “Hug Carol every day and tell her you love her. She is the most precious person in your life.” Our children and grandchildren adored them and they became a fixture in their lives from the beginning. Bill was a staunch conservative in his faith and politics and while we had many discussions about our differences there was never a moment when either of us thought those would divide or estrange us from each other. Some of Bill’s last words to me were, “I am looking forward to seeing you this year at the beach because I want to listen and understand how you think the way you do.”

Peggy died in 2015 and Bill died ten years later on June 27 this year. At 93 he drove himself to the hospital and passed away there. 

When I think about them now, I remember the old hymn, “Love Lifted Me.”

I was sinking deep in sin

Far from the peaceful shore

Very deeply stained within

Sinking to rise no more

But the master of the sea

Heard my despairing cry,

From the waters lifted me

Now safe am I

Love lifted me! Love lifted me!

When nothing else could help

Love lifted me

Love lifted me! Love lifted me!

I am only one of hundreds whose lives were saved and lifted by Bill and Peggy from the angry waves of random circumstances or trouble of our own making. We can never repay the debt we owe but we can offer up a small part of the honor and gratitude they deserve. It was not without many personal sacrifices that they devoted themselves to others. They experienced their own losses and tragedies. They suffered tribulations and sorrows of their own. Through it all they never lost their love for those who over many years had washed up on their doorstep, been taken in, saved from the flood and our feet put on solid ground. 

Love lifted me. 

Love lifted so many more.

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Photo by Haley Smith

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