Day I Realized God's Presence with an Earth Shaking Experience, part one

More of an essay, really, but good way to practice imagery.

The day I realized God's presence started with an earth-shaking experience.
The house alarm first woke me up that morning. Ever since my stepfather had it installed, every one of us in our family had set it off accidentally - including the family poodle. Now it wailed in my ears, startling me from a fitful sleep about the apocalypse - not something you want to dream when you haven't attended church for a while. I began crawling out of bed - the door to my closet fell on me, and I threw up my hands over my face with a yelp.
That's when I noticed the intense shaking.
    As a California resident, I knew what this was - earthquake - and I waited for its end. But it didn't stop.  It seemed someone picked up the house and shook it violently with two hands! Teddy bears from my overhead mantle struck my feet. The alarm screamed. I dared to look, and despite the darkness, I could see the frame of my room swinging wildly back and forth.
    Finally, the shaking subsided. I pushed the closet door aside, ran into the foyer, lifted the fallen coat rack and shut off the alarm, just in time to hear the last of the quake fade away. Other than the bright green blinking lights of the alarm panel, everything else remained dark. I walked into the kitchen, kicked broken glass, and stopped.  My eyes caught the shadow of kitchen furniture piled in a mass heap and I knew it was bad. We must have had the Big One, I thought.
Suddenly a strong aftershock sent me into the door frame of the hallway. Panting in terror, I gripped the frame and slid to the floor as it passed. This was big - enough to make the news, anyway. I heard a bedroom door open and my sister came out, walking timidly down the hallway, until we collapsed into each others' arms with whimpers.
   We knocked on our parents' door, calling for them in oddly hushed voices. My mom and stepdad eventually emerged with flashlights. He bore a red gash on the side of his ankle, courtesy of the glass from their bedroom mirror, which splintered as it crashed to the floor during the earthquake. He threw the front door open and we stepped out into a neighborhood plunged into darkness. Another aftershock passed. We heard noises from the homes of our neighbors as they grabbed for flashlights and checked on each other frantically. I distinctly heard a woman's bloodcurdling screams in the distance.  
    We found more flashlights and we put on shoes to keep our feet safe. We had to get to our poodle, Mopsy, who slept in the laundry room, just through the den on the other side of the house. But the quake had thrown the dishes, food, and even the refrigerator onto the floor, blocking the door to the den. So we went out into the backyard and around the side of the house to get in through the side entrance. In the den, my stepdad's musical equipment - including large ceiling speakers -- lay scattered on the floor. The laundry room resembled a debris pile of clothes and appliances.
"She died, she's dead." my sister muttered about Mopsy.
But we heard scratching from one of the cupboards beneath the counter.  Shoving things away, my stepdad opened it up and pulled out our little Mopsy, who trembled in fear. Now that our whole family was OK, we checked for other things - shutting off the gas, bandaging my stepfather's injuries, and throwing on any additional clothes.
     I grabbed my radio and set it on the lawn of our next door neighbor so everyone could listen to news reports. I walked around the corner to check on the another family I knew. I even decided to see if the quake had affected the freeway, just around the corner and down the street from us. When I walked to Balboa Boulevard, the street had been transformed into a raging river, due to a busted water main a block up. Cars in the middle of the street remained stalled as owners desperately tried to start them. Water lapped into the lawns and over fallen brick wall fences. I managed to walk to the freeway overpass, where the freeway remained empty and dark below. I decided on a shortcut through an alley upon my return, using the flashlight to guide my path through the darkness.
That's when I heard a POOF! sound and everything became bright. I looked up to see a huge flame of fire shoot to the sky two to three houses in front of me.  It lit the sky, giving me the feeling I had walked onto an action scene of a fast-pace TV show at Universal Studios.
But this wasn't a show. This was real. This was the morning of Jan. 17, 1994, the day of the Northridge Earthquake - a 6.8 temblor that left 57 dead and about $20 billion worth of damage. It was the day before my birthday, a day where we'd learn about fallen freeway overpasses, and the reality that seven homes around the corner from us -the location of the towering flame - had burned down. We would be without electricity for five days and running water for a week. Neighbors used water from our pool to flush the toilet. My family and I escaped to San Diego for refuge. The then-United States president, Bill Clinton, visited our area. The national guard posted soldiers around the corner of our home for three weeks. My junior college postponed the start of semester due to campus damage. Motorists would find alternate routes while the city repaired streets and freeways.
But what I remember most, came on that day, still submerged in darkness in the midst of frantic neighbors and busted fire mains. I had returned to my room, using a flashlight to search for better shoes. As I found them a sudden sense of peace overcame me. I sensed a presence, a person invisible to the eye but just as real, holding me with invisible arms, letting me know things were going to be OK. I realized this presence to be God, and I felt tranquil and at peace in those arms, those invisible arms of God, who assured me he was there even though I hadn't thought much of Him or gone to church. He was letting me know He was still with me, no matter what.
In the weeks after the earthquake, I returned to church. I had already became a Christian in 1991, I had simply stop practicing. But now the earthquake revitalized my faith. That is not to say I didn't have major doubts and slip-ups since then. I even walked away from my faith in 1998 for a brief four years. But God never left me, not even during that time, and I came back to the faith in 2002. He remains with me still, when I have bad days and good. I am serious about my commitment to God, from how I think to how I try to live with others. That is because I realize God's love for me, as he showed me on that day. Preparing to celebrate my birthday, especially when the quake's anniversary comes around, remains comical.

Author's Note

Feel free to comment. This is my attempt to create a narrative out of my experience of the Northridge earthquake