sunday storm

i never knew going to church could be such a dangerous venture. it's not normally, at least not until last night. as we drove to the evening meal and service at crossroads, the sky descended on us. demented twirls of cotton candy churned above us in varying shades of grey. God was readying his set. his latest short film was about to commence. it was old and familiar. aged to perfection. but still, it was new, dangerous... and strangely inviting. the actors in place, the quickly unfolding plot teased us with the threat of a tornado. the sirens screamed around the state, "GET INTO YOUR BASEMENTS. COLLECT YOUR CHILDREN. YOU ARE NOT SAFE". so we drove on.

a women seeking shelter ran her double-wide stroller up the hill next to Washington University. lights flickered. the red, yellow and green robots lost power as we approached an intersection. power lines exploded and sparked. and then the rain came. the key grips, summer interns and special effects assistants dumped their buckets down on us. and we watched. we watched and drove as the water turned to frozen, white peas; pelting us and driving us off of historic route 66 and indoors.

so we eat, we sang, we listened and we prayed and then the sun came out. the rain was gone... and our house's electricity had left with it. we returned to the darkness seeking candles and flashlights and batteries. in the calm, cool night air (the temperature had dropped from 80 to 55 in a few short hours) i sat on the porch talking with my brother. UFO's orderly lined up across the horizon, lazily waiting to descend upon Lambert International Airport. all was calm. the tree laying across Midland Blvd. had spared the ancient U-City home behind it. in a distant park more trees lay dead and uprooted. underneath one lay a hiker, Kent Cross (only 20 years old) the breath of life crushed out of him. another man's spirit departed from him when the roof of a clothing store fell on top of him. he was Delancey Moore, 54 years old. all of them victims. casualties to the sudden, angry burst of an early spring storm in st. louis.

and as i sat there on my front porch, in my fold-up camping chair, all was faded to black. the film short was over. spectators had been claimed, but not to the surprise of the director. the timing was perfect... everything went just as he had planned. why had things gone the way they had? who knows. why had the set exploded, claiming two lives? same answer. but i am confident that the director remains the director. i am confident that the funding for his next piece will not be denied. in fact, i know that now, right now, even as i type and the after-shocks of blustery wind pulsate outside, he is still directing. the story continues on... and so must i...