Safety First
By Susan Law Corpany

Most of you have heard that there was an earthquake recently on the Big Island of Hawaii, where I live.  I would like to tell you how scary it was, but I was in Arizona at the time.  The traumatic part was worrying about my husband and stepson after hearing about the quake but before contact was made with them.  Thankfully, I was able to reach Thom and determine they were fine. 

Whenever we experience something like this, it shakes us up in more ways than one.  We usually find out whether or not our emergency supplies are adequate, whether anybody knows where they are, if the food is still edible and whether the outfit stored for a third grader still fits him in high school.  We are forced to consider our state of preparation for a greater disaster, and vow to be a little better prepared the next time something happens.

As I've mentioned in previous articles, my husband is a disaster mental health specialist for the Red Cross.  His job is to study how people react to traumatic events.  One of the reasons he chose to live on our island is that the County of Hawaii is the most disaster-prone county in the United States.  Although I have a strong self-preservation instinct, I must have a certain adventurous spirit because I married this man, on purpose, with full knowledge of his attraction to danger.  (I hope his attraction to disasters has nothing to do with why he married me.) 

For starters, earthquakes are likely ― as are tsunamis.  Occasionally we find ourselves in the path of a hurricane.  Our island is home to the world’s most active volcano, and our house is situated on another mountain that happens to be the largest active volcano on the planet.  I have been close enough to molten lava that I thought my jeans were going to catch fire.   Moonlight hikes to see the lava flow are probably not a common date night for most people. 

I'll never forget his efforts to capture for posterity my first experience with molten lava.

“Back up just a little more and I’ve got a great shot.”

“Just take the picture, Thom.  I am five-foot-six, and I am not any getting closer to the lava than I am tall.”  (I always leave enough clearance so that if I trip, I don’t fall in and become an instant skeleton like that guy in the Indiana Jones movie.) 

When disaster strikes, Thom likes to be right in the middle of it, and I like to be as far away as possible.  I’m convinced his Red Cross work is just a convenient way for him to end up at the site of many of the disasters that strike.  Because of his focus in this area, I find myself increasingly aware of the many catastrophes that can and do happen, many of them a little too close to home for my taste. 

Sometimes he will give me little quizzes to test my readiness for a disaster.  One evening we were seated on a park bench in the beautiful Japanese Liliuokalani Gardens looking out over the ocean.  With my head rested on his shoulder, I was enjoying the peace and tranquility of the moment, not to mention the romantic atmosphere. 

“Okay Susan, if right now there was an earthquake strong enough to knock you off your feet and you knew you had only about a couple of minutes before there was a tsunami, what would you do?”

I looked around.  It was dark.  There were ponds and paths in the park between us and the nearest hotel.  “Well, if it was light enough, I would probably head for one of the hotels behind the park and head for a high floor, but I wouldn’t try to make it to a hotel in the dark, because I can’t see well enough to avoid falling in one of the ponds.”

“Vertical evacuation is always good if it is feasible.”

“I wouldn’t get in the Jeep, because the only road out of here is too near the ocean.”

“Good thinking.”

“I would probably overturn that big garbage can right over there next to that big tree and hoist myself up and climb the tree.”

He examined the tree.  “That tree would probably hold up in a tsunami, and the branches are thick so you would be able to climb high enough to be safe.  You would probably survive if you climbed that tree.”

“Thom, this isn’t really very romantic.  Why can’t we just sit here and enjoy the view?”

“It is very romantic.  It means I want you to survive if we have a natural disaster.”

He has a map of the United States that lists all the hazards to which each area is prone.  One day I examined that map, trying to find the safest place in the country to live.  I’ve experienced a lot of life’s difficulties, and I would truly like to coast from here on out.  I have put in a humble request to the Lord that I be allowed to die peacefully in my sleep. 

As Woody Allen said, “I don’t fear death.  I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” 

Droughts, nor’easters, floods, earthquakes, wildfires and other disasters dot the map.  Colorado doesn’t look too bad.  I’m not sure I want to be anywhere along the earthquake fault lines in Utah if God decides to “shake up the saints.”  Coastal areas are always prone to a multitude of problems.  Neither too far north nor too far south sounds like a good idea, either.  I don’t want to die in a blizzard, but I wouldn’t want to be in a desert during a heat wave, either.  The flat middle of the country means tornadoes and dust storms. 

If I check historical records, I reason, I can look for a place that has had the fewest disasters in the past hundred years.  Then again, that might mean that’s the place most overdue to have a disaster.  There are other questions:

• What if I find that safe place but we are on vacation in an unsafe place when disaster strikes?

• Even if I can find a place safe from natural disasters, what about unsafe drivers on the road, crime, man-made disasters and terrorism?

• What if I find that safe place and slip on the soap in the shower?

Physical safety, I have decided, is a myth.  We do all we can to be safe, and to keep our families safe, but from there it is out of our hands. 

I've concluded that the only kind of safety that really counts is spiritual safety, living so that on any given day, we can slip on the soap in the shower and be ready to meet our maker.     

3 Nephi 14:13-14 says this:

Enter ye in at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat; Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

There is only one kind of safety that is certain.  That safe place I’ve been looking for is called “The Strait and Narrow Way.”  It isn’t on Thom’s map, but we’ve all been given the directions for how to get there.