April Showers Bring Tornadoes.

It’s a mess.

My precious hometown—population 2,106—is a mess.

An EF-3 tornado ripped through my tiny community last night and left disaster and grief in its wake.

Pavement is scoured, trees are uprooted, and homes are destroyed. People are lost, people are trapped, and people have lost their lives.

This morning I made the very solemn 45-minute drive home from college. I could see evidence of damage very early—ripped up highway signs and tree limbs scattered.

That’s when the tears started.

What would I find?

Were the rumors true—that the high school field-house was destroyed? My old high school field-house?

Was Keith’s gas station really gone?

I couldn’t help but cry. My lifetime memories are wrapped up into this small town, and it is everything I know. I love it. I love my sweet town. I love the people and the sense of family.

When I finally made it into town, the National Guard was controlling the one traffic light in town. They were only allowing residents and volunteers onto Main Street.

What I saw a mile into town took my breath away.

Yes, the disaster took my breath away. It’s shocking and surreal, and my town doesn’t even look the same.

But that wasn’t it. It was the way people were responding.

Neighbors were helping each other. There were hundreds of volunteers everywhere. People were driving down the streets with water, clothes and food, ready and willing to give all they could.

Shelters were set up and gracious people were opening their homes to people who had lost everything.

And that’s what took my breath away.

People rolled up their sleeves and said “Yes, there’s been a disaster. Where can I help? What can I do? What do you need?”

Food? Got it.

Water? Got it.

That tree out of your house? Let me get the chainsaw.

My memories aren’t in the town. I don’t love the geographic area.

I love the the giving, praying, loving community.

Home, we will get through this.

Let’s get to work.

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