Squall

A blustery storm passed through our region this week. In preparation the patio table's umbrella was lifted for storage in a dry corner. Outdoor chairs were neatly slid under eaves for protection from splattering rain drops, potted plants gently shoved against the house to protect heavy laden branches from disorderly winds, saving flowers and fruit.

My efforts paid off, no damage.

The storm, while fully enjoyed for its wild and wet, passed. Furniture is restored to useful places, flowers fully cleansed and watered reach robustly for the sun once again.

It was a gentle storm, not a hurricane.

Violent storms, however, require more than mere rearrangement of precious things, they require full-on defense or evacuation.

To know the difference is to understand which procedure to follow. Rearrangement or boarding up windows, evacuating important possessions to safety. Eave protection or hunkering down.

For lack of attention and maintenance unnecessary destruction occurs.

In patio decor.

In homes.

In families.

While a storm brews on the horizon no weatherman tells me which way the wind blows, advises no procedure. Discernment is up to me, my experience, my knowledge, my feeble wisdom.

God help me make the right choice for it seems my eyes alone scan the horizon. Others, oblivious, foolishly rush toward damage or destruction.

This storm oppresses - the chance for mere rearrangement has passed. Too ferocious. Will I escape in time, my precious ones safe, or will I linger too long sacrificing my all to save a straw house?

Here comes the huff. Here comes the puff. Will it blow the house down?

Eventually, yes.

Will I survive the loss intact? I hope so.

I hope so.