When Tragedy hits Home

In 1999, I was 7 months pregnant and had just gotten off a plane from Tucson, Arizona.  Hours later, what we knew as "home" was ravished by record setting storms and a new category of killer tornado.  Never, never in a million years did anyone think it could happen again.  It did.

As I've sat in front of the live feeds from an Oklahoma City news channel, I have heard the reports and seen the images.  Phone calls back home remind me how real the tragedy has invaded our lives.  Friends houses have been wiped off their foundations.  My precious Linda Patterson (seems like a family member but is the Grandma to my nephew) was one of those teachers who also happens to be a hero.  If you've seen the interview of the man in a red t-shirt, describing how he and others lifted a car off a teacher who was sheltering three children under her body ... that was her.  His tearful comment, "Good job, Teach"  says it all.

As I scan my Facebook page, reading friends notifications of what damage they have sustained, where they are relocating, what they have lost ... I just sit and weep.  I'm not even sure where these emotions are coming from.  This place that I call home ... has been hurt.  Therefore, I hurt.

Deciding to trust in a loving God ... even in the midst of horrible tragedy ... keeps me anchored.  Anchored doesn't mean you don't weep.  Anchored doesn't mean it hurts less.  Anchored doesn't mean you ache for those 9 parents who have lost babies.  Anchored doesn't mean your heart sinks with every new bit of information about dear friends.  Anchored just means holding fast to the truth ... despite all those things.

In the middle of such horror, there are the  miracles.  That's when I see God's fingerprints pointing to Himself ... pointing to the anchor that never shifts or changes no matter how strong the winds.  My heart is sad.  My faith is strong.

God bless my Oklahoma!