safe.

It's 10:46 and it's still 29 degrees outside. With the humidity it's more like a suffocating 42. I've been scanning the internet for reports of storms and tornadoes all day long. A few storm chasers ("tornado hunters", they call themselves) have boldly stated that they are targeting the area where we live for some good tornado chasing action throughout the day. I bite my nails and nervously scan the horizon - north, south, east, west - looking for the tell-tale shapes of thunderheads and wall clouds. One relatively tame system passes in the middle of the day, but other than that, the skies are quiet. The mighty hunters declare the day a bust and decide to head off to more promising lands. I breathe a sigh of relief, but check myself with the a quick "only God can declare the weather to be".

Then, to my dismay, a glowing city of turbulent clouds rises up in the distance. The setting sun highlights the ragged cumulonimbus clouds that form the front line. A smooth wall of clouds forms the backdrop, rising up and then flattening out, resulting in a strange top-hat formation that only adds to the wonder of it all. 

I can feel the fear rising up inside me as I consider what could be. Far beyond a desire for simple self preservation, my fears extend to my two sleeping babies who have not as yet discovered a reason to be doubtful of what passes above. I try to calm myself by praying, by looking every other direction and attempting to admire the beauty that my mind tries to block out. Even with all of my attempts to coax it back into hiding, the adrenaline is already kicking in. Grabbing a waterproof tote, I hastily throw together an emergency bag that includes ID, money, dry shirts, diapers, formula, water, and a Bible, and set it by the front door alongside a sleeping bag. It is quite possible that our lack of underground dwelling contributes to this feeling of helplessness. Whatever the case, I want to make sure that I am prepared to gather my family and sprint over to the neighbour's house at a moment's notice.

By now the sun has faded, and I am left with a dead silent night and a breathtakingly stunning lightning storm to read like a book. I try not to think about how still it has gotten out there - I cannot discern the slightest movement of air, even though what I imagine to be miles of cloud hovers above. It drives me crazy that I cannot see the cloud shapes unless they are lit up like a Christmas tree by lightning. I fix my gaze on pitch-black darkness and rely on the images burned onto my retinas to build a pieced together picture of what is shrouded in night. As far as I can tell, the clouds have all condescended to travel in a straight line. None of this rotating business. This pleases me. Or, rather, this pacifies me for the present.

Amidst all of this fear and laughable human effort to attain more knowledge than one so small should possess, I look up and discern a tiny speck of light. Nothing is hindering its view, and I realize that this same star has been visible the entire time I've been worrying myself sick. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, up above the world so high. Untouched by the terrors below. All at once my heart knows that God is above all of this. My head knew it all along, but the rest of me needed a little convincing. The flashing, ragged shapes in the distance suddenly seem a bit silly as I gaze at the beautiful little star shining down on me.

I am safe. Safe in the will of God, safe because nothing can hide me from His view. Just as my children are sound asleep while something so powerful passes by, I too can rest in God's tender care of me. As the fear abates, the awe of my Lord rises. I am so thankful for the grace to live another day free from the fear of death, free from the bondage of sin.