A couple of hours ago, the sky turned black and we hunkered down for what looked like it would be a whopper of a thunderstorm. As rain pounded the roof and wind bent the trees, Dan asked me to look up the weather report online. It was then that we saw the words:
Very funny, I thought. Would someone please alert the local weatherman to the fact that this is New Hampshire? We endure suffocating winters that bring weaker humans to their breaking points. Come springtime, we drown in mud, fend off black flies, and battle bears in our garbage. All summer long, we refrain from blinking for fear of missing the entire season if we do. We do these things quite cheerfully in exchange for one simple guarantee: No tornadoes. Not in this state. Impossible.
Well, apparently not. The kids and I gathered flashlights and stayed away from the windows while Dan cleared access to the crawl space. We have no tornado cellar, you see, because we live in New Hampshire. Someone tell that to the weatherman, I thought again. And while you’re at it, tell it to the rain that is blowing sideways outside our front window.
Please God, I prayed as I considered the dingy darkness below. Not there. Do not make us go into the crawl space today.
And God is good. He did not make us go into the crawl space. After only about an hour of thunder, lightning, and torrential downpour, He extended His almighty hand and calmed the storm. He smiled down upon our humble state and brought back the sunshine.
And so now I return to email, to laundry, to dishes, and to taking for granted all that is sweetness and light.