Danger has a way of catching us unawares as was this weekend. In dark isolation that drives us to shelter storms, nothing within control, all to do was pray.
Tucked away in small mountain ranges of southern Oklahoma we roughed in tents. My two boys and their friends with only Mommas and sons to experience nature up close.
Real close.
Rain came suddenly but we weren't surprised. Dried in tents with layers of tarp and rain shields, ponchos, rubber boots, and umbrellas were just a few of our wet-weather equipping. Boy Scout camping with several counties worth of Moms and sons started at the sun's rising Saturday morning.
When sky opened needed rain, its outpouring was strong and loud with its deafening drum of drops. Long dry summer months pent up in clouds now washed this side of earth, giving drink to all things thirsty in that wooded life. A torrent of another kind: Moms leaving in drenching droves, and us few, sheltered under open pavilions waiting for it all to pass.
Abated rain stilled for a while at the now mostly emptied campground with only small numbers left for the night. Lightening and thunder claps would announce more rain and so it'd go back and forth between the storms. Leaving seemed harder, so we and those with us stayed.
Curling under sleeping bags in the late night highlighted day's volatile weather. All seemed behind us.
But middle of night bright flashes and rain spattering meant more was here and I remembering the Boy Scout camp in Iowa struck down by tornado but a short while back. Closer than all others before, the fury of this storm raged with close lightening strikes and shelter was only a measly tent between trees. Seperated by our tents and storm's rage, we were cocooned in dark and rain. Prayer became my only equipping tool. It didn't seem enough but it was all I had.
My oldest son awoke scared and I silently praying beside him told him to pray too. I wondered does it take storms to get me to all I have, a place with nothing of my own resource but a prayer and weeble trust. Those weeble toys that roll around but not fall down, like my trust rolling and knocked for so many minutes of storm's dark passing.
We safely survived and light of morning made any nightly fear seem ever so slight. We left shortly before lunch and two hours later were home. Only to have more storms at home, with their rotating winds and clouds of tornadoes. But armed with resources in way of car, house, internet, cell phone and escape at my disposal, I realize safety isn't always my best shelter.
Perhaps weebled prayers aren't such a feeble place but an open door to enter our only sure Shelter. And who could not give thanks to that?
#137 All the dry minutes, hours, of archery, crafts, bridges, creek beds, and meandering woods.
#138 Protecting friends (in close proximity) from the falling tree limb-logs that fell on their tents in middle of night hours.
#139 Sticking through the storms and coming out not only safe, but with a peculiar enjoyment of having shared it with my boys and friends.
#140 Seeing my boy's maturing and me wanting to develop not only their intellect but also their spirit and soul.
#141 Thankful for God's grace to guide me and correct me in His ways because all of His are better than any best I think I have to offer.
#142 Thankful for God's faithfulness even when I'm weak.
#143 Safety from lightening strikes, tornadoes, and hail both during camping and afterwards at home.
#144 For His Presence even when all seems dark and raging, He never leaves us nor forsakes us.
#145 Being reminded of dwelling in His tent forever and give thanks for things temporary because these will pass away in light of eternity.
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