Friday, May 31, 2013

It Is Well With My Soul

When we announced that we were expecting baby #4, JJ pleaded to be the one to call and share the news with Grandma Sharon. He wanted to set up the conversation in a way that he could nonchalantly drop the bomb and await her reaction. He later detailed their conversation: “I asked her what she was up to, but I admit I only asked because I wanted her to ask me back. I didn’t even pay attention to what she said, but I’m betting she said something about watching the weather, since that’s what she’s always doing…” I belly laughed because I knew he was likely right on the money! My mom is the family weather-wonder-woman. Clear skies or storms ahead, I have come to rely on Mom to let me know when to be weather aware in Owasso. 

I hadn’t heard a word from her on May 20th, 2013, so I had no cause for alarm and no clue what was brewing in my hometown of Moore, OK. Following a nice, leisurely, media-free afternoon visit at a friend’s house, I rounded up my two younger boys and headed to pick JJ up from school. Waiting in the car line, I logged on to Facebook on my phone. A friend’s status read, “Tornado just touched down on 149th and May!” Hmm, that’s odd. That’s right next to my cousin’s house. It must be a joke or a mistake though, since I haven’t heard from anyone today. I’m sure it’s nothing significant. I dialed my mom’s number. I can imagine her irritation when she heard my completely oblivious voice on the other end of the line, “Heyyy! What’s going on over there?” 

“Oh, Steph, there’s a big tornado headed right for my house.” Now, my mom isn’t one to be very dramatic just for effect, but I was certain she was overreacting in this case. Tornadoes have threatened that house so many times over the last 35 years, but her house had always seemed to have a protective shield around it. All different shapes and sizes of funnels have touched down nearby but always stayed just blocks to the north, to the south, to the east or to the west. Like clockwork every spring for as long as I can remember, the dark, scary clouds circulate above her house, but change their minds about forming a funnel and retreat. I fully expected this menace to thin out and disappear before it ever came close to her neighborhood. I had no frame of reference for what was happening; nevertheless, I understood that any tornado is a scary one, especially when you’re by yourself. I just needed to be a calming voice in her ear. I assured her everything was going to be ok, she was going to be ok, etc… 

She was watching the television as she stood on the phone with me. I started asking questions to gauge the best approach to keeping her calm.
“Have you cleared out the closet?”
“Yes.”
“Are they saying to take cover in the central part of the house?”
“NO! They’re saying get UNDERGROUND … Someone’s calling on the other line…… that was Peetie, he told me I need to get out of here. I can’t leave. I don’t know where I would go.” I remembered the exact same directions given during the course of the last deadly tornado that ripped through Moore: get underground.
“It’s gonna be ok, Mom, you’re gonna be ok.” My confidence was wavering. I started to wonder. I was so confused. It was all happening too fast to process. My mom was scared, and there was nothing I could do from where I was. I just wanted to be with her. I didn’t want her to be alone. I worried more about her blood pressure than the destruction from a tornado. I just didn’t want her to be alone.
“Steph, I’ve got to hang up. It’s here. I have to get in the closet.” Her voice was laced with panic, and I fought for the right words to calm her.
“Ok. I love you, Mom. You’re gonna be ok. Stay calm. Pray. Call me when it’s over. Whatever happens, it’s gonna be ok. It is well with your soul.”
“I love you too. I gotta go.” Click.

Inching forward in the car line 2 helpless hours away from my mom, I dialed a friend who lives just outside of Moore who confirmed the severity of the situation all the while trying not to alarm me. He was already headed toward Moore to see what he could do to help and offered to check on my mom.

JJ stepped into the car and as we headed for home I explained what was going on. Dread and concern trickled in with each passing moment of no call back. I decided to try calling her, although I knew even if she were safe the phone lines were likely down. To my surprise, she answered! In all my years I had never heard such distress in her tone, but I was just so relieved to hear her voice I didn’t care what words she spoke. I asked what happened. “Oh, Steph, it hit my house. All my windows are blown out. There’s mud and debris everywhere. I don’t know what to do, what do I do? This is awful! I wonder if someone can come…?” I made sure she wasn’t hurt and then assured her that someone would get to her soon, just hang tight and be careful about walking around. I asked about the roof. “I don’t know. I haven’t even been outside. I’m going to go see, I’ll call you later.” Click. 

Later she recounted that when the tornado barged in the front door and ransacked the place, she prayed aloud and used every ounce of her strength to keep the closet door pulled shut because the force of the suction was so strong. She compared the sound of the wind to that of fighter jets zooming right past at close range. As far as damage, the roof was completely lifted off but set right back down about 3 inches away from where it was supposed to be. Flying debris punctured several holes in the roof and the walls both inside and out. Bricks had fallen off the house. Windows were busted and blinds were mangled. The garage door twisted and blew in. Broken glass, insulation, and splintered wood littered the ground inside and out. Yet the house still stood, and strangely most of her belongings remained in place.

The same was not true for any of the homes around her. Next door on both sides and across the street, the homes were reduced to heaps of rubble and maybe a few 2X4s still standing. Their walls came crashing down and the roofs have disappeared. The house diagonal from her was identical to hers and had the whole 2nd story, carpet and all, ripped away and thrown who knows where. But her house put up a fight. 

Split personalities are warring within me, and vying for attention:

The sentimental sap in me just can’t help but be devastated at the thought that 800 S. Bouziden as I know it, is history. Even though it stands, it’s too badly wounded to survive. Nearly every childhood memory I have is tied up in those walls. My mama poured her heart and soul into making that house a home, not only for us kids, but for all of our friends, our kids and their friends, our extended family on both sides, and even perfect strangers. 800 S. Bouziden was the central gathering place for holidays and special occasions, a safe and secure place to go when you were struggling. Always good food to eat, a soft clean bed to sleep in, and conversation for as long as you could keep your eyes open. She took care of that house as if it were a living being. Looking back now, I like to imagine that it did actually come alive just long enough to show its appreciation for all the years of her TLC. It’s almost as if the walls themselves somehow absorbed the overflow of love poured into the all the folks that came and went over the years, and used the strength of that love to stand up against the winds that tried to claim it. Only after that F5 tornado tapered off and vanished back into the clouds did the house quietly relent to its wounds. It wasn't about to let that monster claim my mom's life, and it certainly wasn't going to let the bastard have the satisfaction of seeing it die. 

The child of God in me realizes that the house and everything in it is just stuff. The house doesn’t have feelings, it’s not a person. It was not a living spirit-house of love that provided a hedge of protection around my mom that day. It takes little more than a quick glance down Bouziden Drive to own the fact that God himself protected her. But in making such a bold statement, a troubling question surfaces: why did God provide a hedge of protection around my mom and thousands of others and yet remove His protection from 24 other helpless individuals that day? How heartlessly presumptuous would it be to assert for any moment that my mom had more faith, loved more, or that she/her house/her emotional investment was stronger than anyone else's? We certainly can’t say that God was on her side but not on the side of the 24 others, because the Bible tells us for any of those 24 who are in Christ, “to live is to die and to die is gain.” The bottom line is that it just wasn't her appointed time to go yet, so God protected her. There remains a purpose for her life here on earth. But the sobering truth is that her appointed time WILL come someday, as it will for all of us.

From the moment we draw our first breath, death begins to pursue us, much like this inescapable tornado. We don’t know when, where, or how it will happen. Even if we can see it coming, we can’t stop it from happening. We can't hide behind any of the stuff we accumulate when it comes for us, and we can’t take any of it with us when we go… not even our own bodies. When death has come, we are left with a bare naked, fully exposed soul, and nothing more. Personally, I hesitate to genuinely examine my own heart, but when I do, I can think of nothing scarier than my fully exposed soul. Lay that soul out before a human judge and I’d no doubt crumble with shame. Without an attorney with exceptional credentials to plead on my behalf, I shudder at the idea of any portion of my soul laid out to be judged by God. My heart runs to Jesus with even more desperation at this thought. The Judge’s SON, he's my attorney. It's so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take him at his word that he died and rose to save souls. And that my soul, the only thing I’ll have left when it’s all over, is safe and secure, and can never be separated from him. 

The May 20th tornado stole my childhood home. 
Even so…  it is well, it is well with my SOUL.