“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” ―
Tornados are wiping out homes across the Midwest this season. I saw news a report that a brand-new home was taken down to the foundation. The family, huddled in the basement storm shelter, were all safe.
In my circles this week, it seems like there are a lot of family and friends having their own storms tearing up life. In my academic field of study, there’s a branch that focuses on disaster research. It was always fascinating to me that from that perspective, the tornado wasn’t really the disaster. It was planting a mobile home in a geographic region where those storms strike with regularity every year.
I don’t know why I’m witnessing this season of disaster for so many. My prayer list is filling up with names of people with health crises. Others are traveling terrible dark journeys of their own making. A trip to the repair shop as medical procedures are on the calendar. Others are navigating emergencies regarding their aging parents. I have friends who are making choices that involve relocating. It’s a wonderful shift but always brings with it levels of stress and strain. It’s been almost a year for me since my own move – there’s the good, the bad and the ugly.
We get to this age/stage and thought our world would be relatively predictable. And then it’s not.
“The future is certain. It is just not known.” ―
Second grade graduation was this morning. I don’t remember that kind of ceremony when I was that age or when I had a second grader myself. But now, with a grandson, it’s a big deal. Mine was keeping his friends sitting near him up to speed on directions the softspoken teacher was whispering into the microphone and he made sure distracted neighbors didn’t forget their certificates left on the floor. I hope he keeps that helpful quality the rest of his life. All I wanted to do as I looked on from a distance was comb his hair.
Three classes of students, all fidgeting in their rows were recognized for academic achievements, perfect attendance, reading the most books and even typing skills. The best part was watching kids crane their necks looking out into the packed cafeteria full of family. Each one trying to find that recognizable face. The light in their eyes when they saw how much they mattered.
In Houston it was hurricanes and floods. Up here in North Texas, it’s tornados and hail. No matter where you live, when disaster approaches (or is currently hailing down on you), a storm cellar is a good idea. I mean the metaphorical kind. The Hurricane Harvey flood in Houston did NOT call for a cellar of any kind!
When we go through terrible times, even those of our own making, we need refuge. Often that means people who will call on the phone (notice I did not use the word text). We need answers at times, from those who’ve been there before. Sometimes just a silent presence to listen. A push out the door. An honest piece of feedback that no one else has the guts to share. Someone to comb your hair. Good friends to send you a song from the past. A place to hide out for a while. Someone to guard the door and keep the ladies with casseroles away. She was there holding your hand in the waiting room. He drove you to rehab. They came over and cleaned up your house and never said a word about it. All these living places of shelter that kept you safe from the storm.
Maybe someone you know needs some shelter right now. I hear some distant thunder.
“The internet was supposed to open up the world and make our small worlds bigger. Instead of a wide-angle lens, it turned into an electron microscope — narrowing everything down to timelines, algorithms, and micro-issues, leaving us in a darkened room, eyes pressed to the glass, unable to see the walls closing in.”
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People in America experience alarming rates of isolation and loneliness. It’s not getting better, only worse. What happens when the storm comes and there’s no place for refuge?
“You will never forget a person who came to you with a torch in the dark…” ―
The Invisible Man 