Storm chasing

Live in the prairie states for a week and you learn to read the panorama sky. 

The sky is so big that you can see the rain fall miles away or the snow on the move towards your driveway.

The sky is so big that first and last light feels like a symphony of color and expanse…and awe.

The sky is so big that you can see the wall clouds build and threaten tornadoes long before you feel the wind, smell the soil flying about, and see the first cows fly past.  ("We've got cows.")

Did Jesus have Kansas in mind when he told the religious leaders of his day, "You see a cloud in the distance and know that the storm is coming up; how can you ignore the signs you see in the present age?" (paraphrase of Luke 12: 54 – 56).

This weekend has been SuperCell weekend over the plain states.  My family and friends are strewn from Kansas and Missouri to parts of Oklahoma and southward.  

My son is closer to Woodward, Oklahoma, this weekend than I care to know (he's fishing with his grandad, I think), but fortunately NOT in his college dorm near Joplin, Missouri, where the storms have parked.  My daughter is either along the storm line between Wichita and Kansas City or visiting friends in Tulsa.  Best buddies, the Mayes clan, are all over the map.  

And I'm here, sleepless, coffee-fueled, and paying attention to Corey Dean's tweets from the Manhattan Broadcasting studios where he and Bill Williams track storms.  

On my knees.

Asking God to chase down the storms, get out in front of them, and keep all those people safe.

And wise.

And close to himself.

…The realization returns that no matter what I can do or how good I can try to be or how much I know – these people that I love are out of my hands. 

They are in his hands.  Whether the morning brings relief or I am dropped to my knees by grief…they are in his hands.

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I've spent my Christian adventure chasing storms.  I am a bit ridiculous when it comes to physical risk. Climb a high peak off belay? Okay. Show off and end up skiing off a 12-foot cliff sideways? Oops, but okay.  Ride my bike fast and without a helmet and racing traffic while waving to friends…yep (sorry Rhonda.) My bunny slippers might be shaking, but my mouth seems to say, "Bring It."

Except when it comes to my kids and later my friends…my brother and sisters.  I have cowered in the gentle breezes, raged at the storm, cursed the storm maker, and wept bitterly in the aftermath of destruction where they are involved.  With too much storm history, trusting is a tough gig. 

But recently, a new friend, who's story has similarities to mine, has been open about faith and hope and trust.  

When I want to know why the storm churned up and vacuumed my innocence into the ether, or my brother had to die so young and I had to find out he was sick a few hours after meeting this Jesus; or why this or that happened – I have no problem going nose-to-nose with God.  It's not a pretty picture.  (Big merciful God v. little squeaky dust ball…)

Where I jut my chin out and park my fist on my hips in defiance, this friend receives and presses in.  And the sincerity and authenticity has me paying attention.

And frankly, we don't need to chase storms. They find us anywhere.

We just need to find a way to tuck in and trust the storm-maker who is not asleep, not a vile power hungry controlling twit, nor an absent father. He is present.  He loves us.  And he knows that we are like dust…small and drifty. He lost a son so that we could have a choice at life in the storm and in the gentlest breezes.

Now kids & friends in plain places…text me if I can pray or if you are okay.  You know who you are.