Tornado in our Town

My daughter and I stood out on the front porch and watched a lightening storm last month.

It was an amazing light show, spanning one horizon to the other. At times you could trace the zig zagging bolts from the sky right down to the ground. Thunder boomed continuously and a steady summer rain was silouted against the street light. We just leaned against the porch rail and enjoyed the extravaganza.

About the time that mosquitos corraled us back into the house, we heard the local storm siren.

"Is that for a warning or a watch?" I asked my daughter.

She went up to bed, and I clicked on the TV weather channel. Red and purple blotches covered our entire dopplar radar map, which was nothing new. But I had never seen the little red circles clustered over an area before. The weather man calmly explained that radar considered those to be circling air masses that either looked like, or were tornados. And like little red balloons, they were drifting right towards our part of the map. Like thousands of people, I watched transfixed as the circles made there way closer toward our home. The gentle summer rain turned ugly and our trees bent and whirled in the confused air mass outside.

Just one town away, more than one hundred homes were lost. Miraculously, no one died.

Usually I sleep right through a storm. Had it not been for the siren or TV, I would have had no idea how close we came to our poor neighbors' fate in the next town.

I wonder what else I've slept through while others suffer personal tragedy in the next town, or neighborhood, or office. Last month, our neighbor across the street quietly packed up their belongings and moved out of state. They gave us a few things and we exchanged contact info. Only after they made the move did we learn that they were going through bankruptcy, just as he retired from his job. How long had the little red circles been drifting over their lives as we slept, oblivious to their troubles, across the street? We'll never know.

I'm going to try and pray more diligently for my neighbors. For problems known and unknown, spoken and unspoken. Around here, people are taught to run to the basement when tornados approach, so we get separated at the peak of danger. Maybe I need to hang out on the porch more - when we're just talking about the weather, instead of hiding from it.

What do you believe?

Safe with my Dad

I took my first wilderness canoe trip with my dad when I was 10 years old.

We portaged our canoe and camping supplies three different times before settling in on a remote Canadian fishing lake.

When we crawled into our sleeping bags and the gas lantern hissed out, I remember falling into an exhausted, but contented sleep.

I had no concerns for the next day's weather or food. I didn't fret or wonder if we could ever thread our way back through the myriad twists and turns of islands and open water back to our starting point. My dad knew what to do. He had everything taken care of.

Or so it seemed to a ten year old. Years later as I started to lead trips of my own, I learned that his easy going confidence came from good planning, reliable equipment and a safety-first brand of common sense. He made it look easy, and I put my full trust in him. When you really think about it though, peril was never far away. Bear attacks happen to prepared people. Bad storms or fires can roar through and crush reliable equipment. My dad's strength shielded me from those worries, but the risks were no less real.

I watched a documentary of the Apollo astronauts last month. They had gorgeous archived film footage of the blue marble sphere of our earth.

We take lots more for granted every day on this planet than I ever did as a kid on those wilderness trips with my dad. Our earth is tilted precariously at an angle that rides the literal edge of destruction between seasons around an explosive gas ball. We're way more than three portages deep into this universe. One degree here or there and we freeze or burn. Carbon gases are laughable compared to a rogue sunspot.

But I have deep confidence in my Father in Heaven, the Lord my God.

He is my shield and protector. I believe in his plan. While storms rage and vicious predators lurk, I draw comfort from His wisdom and strength.

Listen though - this part is important: I do not stray far from Him in camp.

As smart and strong as my dad was, he could do nothing for me if I were to wander off into the woods on my own. I kept within earshot. He taught me to establish visual landmarks that would lead me back if I got confused on a trail. There were some things, like navigating fast water in a canoe, that you simply did not do alone.

I stick within a prayer's distance of God. He renews strength and comfort when I return to camp each Sunday. I try never to enter dangerous waters of temptation on my own. Keep the Bible compass nearby. And there are established landmarks of Salvation and Grace if I get confused on the trail.

Not everyone had a role model like my dad, but everyone has a Father who loves them and will get them there and back.

What do you believe?