Anyone who knows me, knows that I love running in the rain. Yesterday, when I glimpsed the small band of storms that approached from the west, a small stirring of excitement rose within me for a moment as I geared for a good day on a well-worn wet Birmingham trail. That was before I knew what I now know. I did not run. 24 hours later my thoughts are of a different sort. The storm left devastation that has rarely been equaled in this "sweet home" state of ours.
Gathering rain clouds sometimes bring comfort in dry places, but the vicious power contained in these...well, it humbles us...and I am, in this moment, driven to my knees. The reality of it all serves as a scathing reminder of the fleeting nature of even the most stable of our material possessions. Tornados picked up Tuscaloosa homes and delivered them in pieces to Birmingham. On Wednesday afternoon, though they had survived many previous storms, the leveling of some of Birmingham's most solid structures could be measured in seconds. Many other communities that stood in the northeastern alley of the twisters were violently impacted as well. Some lives were lost. Some souls were changed for the time they remain upon this earth. No doubt, this day will be remembered for many years to come, if the Lord wills it.
The national concern for the South does good, I think. I hardly feel qualified to speak of such things as I was not greatly affected like many of our neighbors. But I pray for them. I pray that we see Jesus in this...that we trust His heart even when we can only faintly (if at all) trace His hand. Once again, I find myself compelled to speak in a moment that may insist on my silence. Here and now, let those who have suffered loss speak about the unspeakable with an amplified message. May your voice direct our prayers. We are listening.
