This time of year those two go together like peanut butter and jelly, milk and Oreos, or 3 year olds and defiance. It’s not new to us. In fact it’s odd to me to think there are parts of our own country that don’t have them. Really? I can’t even imagine. My childhood is filled with memories of them. One of my earliest memories is of me sitting in our closet with my sister while my mom stood at the open window praying as the tornado roared past. I remember many “drills” at school – under our desks or in the halls, crouched on our knees, chins down, with our hands on our heads. Do they still do this?
People have in-ground storm cellars, crawl spaces under their houses, or at least a plan – innermost room, think: bathtub plus mattress. We have sirens around town (usually at the courthouse or fire stations) that sound to alert you to seek shelter.
The other night a harsh 2 day run of storms started. I began to gather my supplies and wits to prepare for the tornadoes. As the news called out the names of town after town where friends live I prayed. Even as I gathered my own babies into our own safe place. I received a few “You are watching the weather, aren’t you?” calls. And placed a few of my own. My husband texted with friends who were in the direct path, making sure each step of the way they were safe, trying for humor in the midst of stress. I watched facebook as closely as I watched the news and the windows, waiting for confirmation that everyone, in their turn was okay.
We got one of those confirmations this morning. Their roof was gone, they were staying with friends, but they were all safe. We drove through their neighborhood today and I cried. So many people out, so many working together, so many with losses. I cried. For them, their losses, their fears in the night. And I cried tears of thankfulness.
