Prayers
A cool breeze pushed out the warm, humid blanket of late morning air. It was another day in Alabama. Summer pushes out the coolness of spring too soon for most of us. We wish the dry, crisp spring could linger for just another week. The forecast was severe thunderstorms with the possibility of tornados. It was a common forecast and often repeated in the spring and fall. We don’t ignore it, but its familiarity often makes us doubt its fierceness. We will not forget that day.
Early afternoon we started to hear about the certainty of a storm unlike any we had yet experienced. Towns to the Southwest had received one blow and would not be spared another. We talked to neighbors, called family and friends to make sure they knew a storm was building. Our hope was that it would track south or north - not uncommon for our area. This storm was different, however, it seemed determined to reach us. We received word that one town was destroyed and the storm’s rage had yet to reach its peak. This storm was different; its fury would not diminish nor would its pace. It was only a matter of time and we would feel its harsh blows.
The horizon turned dark, the wind paused and then blew with a strength we did not want to feel. The first tornado tracked south of our house. I stood with my son-in-law and watched the storm move with a speed never experienced before. We were given a short reprieve and then we watched the second tornado move west and north, faster than the first. The final tornado appeared right behind the second and its darkness told us there would be sorrow, pain and relief.
Those in the path of the storms were crushed and scattered. Homes were littered fields, farm machinery was tipped over, roofs collapsed and windows were blown out. People died.
Prayers were heard and some were answered. We all prayed that nature’s ravaging force would not notice us and just pass by. We prayed that loved ones were safe, we prayed that the storm would end. We prayed, and then prayed some more.
In the days after the storm we are shocked by its force, humbled by its strength and awed by the randomness of its destruction. One house stood with every shingle and stone intact. The house next door is remembered only by the color of one remaining wall. We hold ourselves as we stand and stare, knowing it could have been worse for us. Why them and not me? Was my prayer more fervent? Was it first in line? Did God love me more than my neighbor? No. The rain falls on the fields of an evil man just as it does on the fields of a good man. The storm is no different.
If I ask “Why me?” the answer is “Why not?” The storm held no anger towards anyone. It was a storm and storms can crush what once seemed so strong. That’s why it’s called a storm.
It’s been a week since the storm passed. As I rest, safe in my home, I wonder about prayer. Did I pray that the storm would pass me and unleash its force on my neighbor? Did I ask God that if someone must die, let it be me? Would I find comfort in the answered prayer that destruction fell on my home and no one else’s? Should I have asked for unanswered prayers? If no greater love is that of one who gives his life for another, did I fall short when I gave a sigh-of-relief that the storm did not harm me?
Sometimes life is cruel, unfair and painful. Sometimes we think prayer is unanswered. There is one certainty, even in the storm: God is absolute. I may not understand Him, and His ways may be a mystery, but He will always stand with me in the storm. I did not cross His threshold that day, but one day I will. It may not be in the middle of a storm, but He will stand with me when I do.
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