Inclement Weather

The phone calls started early in the evening. One by one, as my friends and I sat watching movies at another friend's house, calls came in for kids to go home. Apparently, according to the weather man, a snow storm was coming, and the only way Texans know to brace themselves is by bringing all their chickens in for the night. Most parents came to get their kids, mentioning how bad it was getting out there and how much more comfortable they felt being the ones driving, as opposed to trusting their 16-year-old kids, my friends, to the snow. No call came for me. When I phoned home to let them know I was on my way, Dad seemed unimpressed. I asked if he was going to be waiting out front for me when I got home. His answer - "Baby, it's cold outside. Come inside when you get here. Then, I'll know you made it home." Fine. I made the five-mile trek home, having never driven in snow before, flawlessly. There were two, perfectly straight, unwavering tire tracks in the snow, marking my route and my confidence in a God who seemingly shows out through weather.

I grew up in Wichita, Kansas - in the smack-dab heart of Tornado Alley. One would think that because of the documented destruction and devastation that a tornado causes, an element of respect would emerge. One would think. My dad ran a local radio station in Wichita. Anytime inclement weather rode into town, he was up and out the door to check on the transmitter; assuring the listeners of Oz that their radio programs would be uninterrupted. My mother, being a super-mom, could not waste time in a basement away from laundry and dishes and papers to grade. So, when the tornado sirens screamed, they rounded us kids up and herded us down to the basement before heading out to the transmitter or over to the sink to finish the dinner dishes. And, once in the basement we had little worry about what was happening above ground. Our basement boasted amenities like a TV and fridge and Nintendo game system. We had all we could ever want, save for a bathroom. We just didn't let our feathers get too ruffled by things like tornadoes.

One of my all-time favorite things to do is sit out on my balcony, in my rocking chair, listening to music while a rainstorm rolls in. If the temperature is right, I'll slip off my shoes and prop my bare feet up on the railing and watch the lightening show that usually accompanies North Texas thunderstorms. My neighbor across the way does not like this. She is, obviously, a mother. A mother to the core such that she would shout out across the way, waving at me to go inside. One particular time, I took off my headphones long enough to see what she was yelling about. "Get yourself inside! There's a bad storm coming. You shouldn't be out in this weather!" she yells. I just smiled, waved, slipped my headphones back on, and continued rocking. I don't take my headphones off anymore for her. I just smile and keep watching God show off.

I am not of the mind to understand meteorologists and their science. I don't really want to. Arctic air masses, downdrafts, McFarland signature thrusts, and atmospheric pressure have nothing on God's fingers and whispers and laughter which is what I imagine inclement weather as being. There is something comforting about the changing weather. It's a visible reminder, for me, that God is in complete control; that He created something so complex as a human that can sit out on her balcony to watch something else so complex as a lightening storm. He runs it all. He moves it all. Humans and weather are ever-changing, but God is not. And, that is very comforting to me.

"...He causes his sun to rise..., and sends rain..." Matthew 6:45