Images of Puerto Rico, Barbuda, the Virgin Islands and others among the places so devastated by recent hurricanes are startling, to say the least. Forces of nature remind us how fragile life is and how tenuous is the hold on what any of us have. We realize how dependent we are on the things most of us take for granted today: electricity and all it allows us to do, a dry place to sleep, medical care, jobs to go to or systems to rely on, family or friends.

What happens when, in an instant, those things are taken away? To whom do we turn? For whom do we wait? On whom do we depend? And how do we turn to tomorrow without the kind of despair that prevents us from putting one step in front of the other?

Having never experienced anything of such magnitude, I’ve no right to attempt an answer to those questions—except tentatively and humbly. For at such a time, folks do the best they can. And, for sure, they turn to, wait for, and depend on anyone who is there to help. And in a remarkable tribute to the best in the human spirit, so many in such situations also turn outward and help each other. They do depend on the government. They do accept help from private relief organizations, both religious and non-religious. And they do figure out how to make their way in a world that is suddenly totally new. And they do more.

The truth of what we see in the Caribbean today shares a family resemblance with the truth all of us need to learn in one way or another. And so it also shares a family resemblance to the hope that we can all also learn. Whether it is the sudden loss of love, a diagnosis out of the blue, the death of one you love, a disappointment you thought you could never bear, a remarkable joy that unsettles how you thought you knew the world, in any and all of these things, life teaches us the truth of fragility. Nothing we have is permanent. Nothing we know is unalterable. Nothing we love will be with us forever. Except . . . Except . . . the power, knowledge, and courage of God.

We can pray that despair might be turned into glimmers of hope, not only by practical expressions of care, but also by the spiritual power of prayer, of letting go, and in mutually sharing the burdens and needs of the moment.

We can be help.

We can show faith.

We can pray for strength.

We can give thanks to God in all things, for what can never be taken away. And that includes who we are as children of God, what we can do in care for each other, and how God comes to us when we open ourselves—even when the rain falls.