Friday evening, after tornadoes that destroyed towns in the lower part of the state were gone, we took a long walk around our town before dinner. The wind was still whipping and fierce, but the rain had stopped and things were trying to dry out. The skies were starting to clear, but everything still looked soggy and depressed from the day’s storms.
The walk was peaceful.
After a rushed and stressful week, it’s what my soul needed. Just a lazy walk with my little family, watching my girls play and giggle while being pulled by Chris, their main caregiver and full-time parent. It is somewhat painful to type a sentence like that, but it also makes me intensely proud of the man I married.
As we walked around the town we’ve called home for almost five years, I thought about the stories that were emerging about the chaos and destruction south of us. About the mom that lost her legs while shielding her children from a tornado or about the kids stuck as school while the town around them collapsed. It made me thankful for the calm of the evening, for the squeals my daughters were making, and the safety the man pulling them made me feel.
But then I remembered that storms always come, there will always be heartache and chaos and destruction, and I cannot rely on others to make me feel safe. When I think about tragedies that happen every day, it sometimes becomes too much.
I don’t understand how people recover.
I don’t understand how you go on.
But I know someone who does and He tells me to stop worrying. He reminds me that only He knows what tomorrow holds and He’ll be there waiting for me. He’s not promising me a pain-free existence, but He is promising me His existence.
And that calms me in my storms.