We’re glued to the radar again.
Everybody around here has pretty much come to accept that we won’t see Jimmy Fallon on TV at night and “tornado warning” is now a routine part of three year olds vocabularies.
Damaging hail fell from the sky and torrential rains ceased to let up. Waters filled the street and flooded foundations. And the meteorologists would deliver yet the same forecast for the following day. “Chance of heavy rain and hail. Conditions may be right for a tornado. Know where your shelter will be.”
The dings on our car exterior necessitate a phone call.
The next day I get a text from a dear friend, “Had to leave our house last night because of flooding. Don’t know what this all will look like.”
With the turn of another calendar day friends lose windows from an angry sky raining ice and the most mature of trees are uprooted from their foundation.
A house on the street of my childhood home is struck with lightening.
The city goes on water restriction because the sump pumps run at an all time high in hopes of staying ahead while hundreds of others pull up carpets and remove valuable mementoes.
Streets are closed due to stalling vehicles. Neighboring communities look lost in lakes.
And just when we think we’ve had it all – seen enough – the tornadoes crop up. We glue ourselves to media seeing if they will come here. They don’t, but they get close enough. My friend’s grandpa’s dairy is lost. Homes are leveled Tuesday and then again Wednesday.
And then we woke up today - 60% chance of storms. - You can hear the groans. It’s like life has become a bad version of Groundhogs Day.
We’ve raised our white flags. “Enough, God, enough!”
And the storms that rage outside fire within our hearts. And the water that sits sinks spirits. And the intensity of life’s battle drum grows louder, LOudEr, LOUDER.
Lives are thrown into turmoil.
Lack of control shrivels hopes.
Dreams for tomorrow are lost.
Life demands a new work and outlook and vision.
In mere seconds everything looks different.
We go outside to look at our dwimpy tree that fights to grow. Daily we’ve watched out the window as the leaves shook and trunk bent so far over it nearly cracked. It seems miracle that it didn’t fall.
“There’s a nest in there!,” my Hannah celebrates.
My husband and I are sure she is wrong because there is seemingly no way that a nest could withstand the winds of life.
But, there it was,
Tight and protecting new life.
The radar says more storms may come. I suppose it will always be true of our lives.
But, when the storms of life rage on - when we’re blown, bent, and nearly broken – we have a God that reminds us in the midst of it all, He will give new life.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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