The winds have been blowing strong since yesterday. The kind of strength that makes you feel slightly uneasy. We’ve known big storms were forecast for today. Timing and intensity were spot on.
As the time approached the winds took on an intensified speed and the sky color cast a dark grey across our home. We were in the path, an extraordinary multi-state wide path of intense tornado activity.
Warnings were flooding Facebook, and I was scared.
I grew up in earthquake and wildfire country. Those are catastrophic events, but the difference for me today, in the Midwest, was the continual onslaught of information.
Earthquakes surprise, there isn’t the tension of potential destruction.
We don’t have cable, so we rely on social media to keep us updated. It is a tense day when you are constantly watching the feed and seeing disaster strike again and again.
Reading dire warnings to “get underground immediately” (we don’t have a basement). Pictures starting to come across of leveled homes, and the anxiety rises.
The home that feels so safe and impenetrable, starts to shake, and the dawning realization hits. A concrete slab, drywall, and timber are a weak defense against a fast-moving twister of wind and debris.
We just went through this on Halloween.
I placed my hand on the windows and felt them shake. Flashlights were gathered, and phones charged. Shoes and socks were placed by our downstairs bathroom-just in case.
My heart was pounding. For hours. And yet, my family was calm. Both of our children did disaster relief this summer in Oklahoma, but they were unconcerned.
Frankly, it annoyed me. Why was I the only one taking this seriously?
They trusted in God’s hand. My faith felt shaky, like everything else around me.
Finally what I feared reached our ears. The community siren. The one that goes off only at noon on Saturdays for testing. Of course, today is not Saturday.
I urged my family into our tiny bathroom. Soon the siren stopped. The worst had passed over us.
Suspiciously I spent the next few hours peering out each window, unconvinced that safety was ours. For across our state, across our neighboring state of Illinois, others weren’t sharing our security.
My heart aches for those who lost so much today.
There is always the after, isn’t there?
When we face our realized fears, or are humbled with gratitude as being spared. I don’t understand it.
That is okay, God welcomes our questions and fears and frustrations and even our anger.
Tonight I count it a blessing to be safe and sound, our home once again comforting me.
I will also join countless others who will be praying for comfort to those whose story doesn’t end as mine did today.
I have the luxury of seeing beauty tonight. A happy ending.
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