Lisa

The rain blew sideways, thousands of drops pinging the windows as phones beeped alerts warning of conditions right for a tornado.

Stuck in a restaurant, waiting for my husband’s shift to end, we weathered it as best we could. We encouraged the kids to play in the play area. We kept away from the panes of glass that loomed all around us. We ordered coffee and monitored the radar from our phones.

When the threat expired, we braved the drive home, wishing each other safe travels. The roads bore witness to the severity of the storm. Water pooled over entire lanes. A fire truck, sirens blaring, lights flashing, sped past us to one of many incidents.

We made it home safely, but only morning would reveal just how much damage the storm had done.

***

Roads and driveways were strewn with fallen branches. There is a sort of noticeable chaos after a storm. Everything looks a bit different, less ordered, more distressed, as if the earth survived a hard-fought battle and lived to tell about it.

The river’s banks could not contain it. Homes along its borders woke to find yards swallowed by the river’s gluttony. Roads were closed because the water dared to creep across it in the low-lying areas.

One town woke to devastation, roofs torn off, buildings collapsed, and an official declaration: tornado.

People banded together, an instant rally to rescue chickens, survey damage, clean up.

The storm was long gone by morning, but its memory lingers. Its aftermath remains.

***

This is how it is with storms. They blow in, sometimes with warning, sometimes not. They bring with them fear and worry, a sense of helplessness.

Who can withstand a storm’s full force and come out unscathed?

***

I hardly remember the biggest storm of my life, and I can hardly forget it. I remember how overwhelming it felt to try to navigate life while the storm raged. Even now, as I write about it, the anxiety builds.

It was like gripping the steering wheel tight, guiding my car on a road that should be familiar but instead is cloaked in fog, or a deluge of rain. I could not see beyond the headlights. I didn’t know when, or if, I would get where I was going.

And when the storm cleared, there was damage with which to contend. But a person had to know where to look.

Could they see my eyes swollen from a flood of tears? Could they see our dreams, downed and broken, like limbs from a tree in tornadic winds? Was the chaos obvious, like the morning after a storm? Our life was scattered bits of what it was only days before. The natural order of our existence was off, and only a trained eye could spot the difference.

I tried my best to carry on as usual, but when a storm ravages your existence, there is only so much maintaining you can do. The truth surfaces, like pools of water in the yard because the ground can’t absorb it.

The aftermath became too much for me to bear and what revealed itself was a life littered with hurt, fear, shame, bitterness, and anxiety.

I could not recover alone.

Nor could I pretend the storm had never happened.

I could not wish the storm out of my past, and I would not let it paralyze my present. It would alter the course of my future, but it would not be the end of the story.

***

I have yet to find a geographic location that is safe from any kind of storm. This should tell me something about life, as well. We are never out of danger of a soul-crushing storm. Not one of us will get through life without something that threatens to break us. Even Jesus, the Hope and Light of the world, promised we would have trouble in this life. We are not immune to hardship.

But we can carry on after the storm has passed.

Here, in Lancaster County, there was an immediate response from the community to those in need. The Amish rallied and started work on barns and roofs and schoolhouses. A church called on its people to help a family whose chicken barns were leveled. Family and friends checked in from across the country on Facebook, and those with damaged buildings got right to work on rebuilding.

Maybe this isn’t always the way it is with life’s storms, but I realize that one key component of rebuilding after the storm is community. Neighbors, friends, church people, family. These are the relationships nurtured before the storm comes. This is the support group in place before it is needed.

This is how we weather storms.

By noticing the needs and spreading the word and showing up. With tools. Or a meal. Or a word of encouragement. 

This is how we weather storms.

By looking for the damage. Maybe it’s not a collapsed building but a collapsed spirit. A broken dream. 

Love your neighbor as yourself, Jesus said. And, do to others what you would want others to do for you.

We weather storms together because the next time it could be us. We step in because we would want others to step in and help if it was our time of need.

This is how we weather storms.

Together.