Storm

We should have sensed it coming. There should have been hairs standing straight up on the back of our necks. There certainly were during and after, but beforehand, we had no warning. The sky loomed a little grey and we could feel a coolness in the previously humid-wet July air.

Three kid seat belts, click, click, click. Their voices buzzed with excitement as we prepared to go to Grandpa and Grandma's for their favorite pizza. Key in, engine hum, reverse. Away we went.

The scent of ozone began to fill our nostrils. The treetops began to sway. This was nothing entirely new for us, living life in a house in the forest. But there was more of a threat in the swirl. Within 25 seconds, the previously grey sky was inky black and rotating, like a whirl of water sucking down the bathroom drain; the chaos began.

Our eardrums began to pull and pop. The boys scrambled to window edges to watch as the forest we lived in and love began splintering. The shrill sound of a very underutilized tornado siren began to wail from 3 miles down in the valley town. My husband and I looked at each other with panicked eyes. One giant cherry tree twisted in front of our van, across the road, another small tree fell just behind. Trapped between, a Hickory loomed large and swayed in the wind. Vertical branches racing toward our windows, each smash inducing screams. Each thunder crash and lightning blast pulled cries from the 7 month old. He had not yet witnessed a storm like this. None of us had.

As scared as I was, I rembered I was the security line for these babies. My husband made a quick choice to back up over the small tree and head for a less forested spot on our road. I chose to reverse too and sit with my boys in the back. We tried to sing, but nervous eyes and clutching hands could not be tamed by melody. So we prayed.

Within 4 long minutes, the damage was done. Downed trees and power lines. Sheer vertical winds of 90 mph had ripped a line of forest all around us. Power out for a week. Searing heat after the cool storm. But gratitude ripped through each heart as we realized things could have been much worse. The same wind that can cool and calm us can quickly change to terrorize. But the Master of the wind holds us all and gives shelter from the storm.

Night

I am most acutely aware of what night means while camping, as the cool, damp night air creeps slowly into the underside of the tent rain fly, misty fingers curling gently up and under to our chilled faces as we sleep. Well, mostly. I wake often. Tossing and turning, unaccustomed to the stiffness of the air mattress that has tried in vain to give me the comforts of home.

Every twig snap, every rustle of leaves-a bear? A masked maniac in the woods? Certainly can't be that...the only crazy ones here are my family and me! I smell the slowly dying embers of campfires drizzled with accidentally dropped marshmallows-turned-mush. And I sigh. I roll over. I have to pee. There is no denying that slow, filling, pushing sensation in the bladder any longer. So I ninja my way out of my sleeping bag, the zipper carrying the force of a 120 decibel speaker stack of sound in the still night, punctuated only by the slow snores of my somehow sleeping kids and husband.

I make my way into the darkness. My eyes adjust slowly. I reach to turn on my flashlight, but then...oh then. I notice. The stars. The sky. Lit up like a billion fiery diamonds. There is no need, or desire, for a flashlight tonight. I stumble through the wet, sticky grass. It tugs at my ankles as I gaze up in awe. Constellations aren't this clearly drawn back home. I can almost see Pegasus' mane dancing wildly as he stampedes through the galaxy. There is no night quite like this.

I quickly do my business, nose burning  at the stench of overly used weekend pit toilet.  Rushing back through the cold air, I gaze up once again, this time seeing the mostly pale hint of light on the horizon. Not knowing for sure what time it is, I snuggle stealthily back into my sleeping quarters. I soon hear the gentle whispers of bird wings as they make their way to straggly branches overhead. Their songs begin tentatively, uncertain if the sun will actually shine again today. But they know they have to sing. It is just what they do. As they welcome the dawn with their cheerful sounds, my heart remembers how hope sings even when dawn's timing remains unknown...and my gentle smile beckons another new day.