08/13/2026
The morning after the storm . . . The howl of last night’s winds has been replaced with the sounds of buzzing chainsaws and beeping front-loaders, clawing their way through the arboreal debris. . . . Farmers, dreading during the night what the coming daylight might reveal, are tentatively surveying their fields to see which of their pivots—and how many corn rows—are still upright. . . . Lineworkers, their night’s rest cut short, are methodically making their way across the land, restoring power pole-by-pole and line-by-line. . . . Dazed and confused mourning doves are having to scout for new perches to replace their downed lookout points. . . . Neighbors are visiting neighbors, asking “How did you guys fare?” and “How can we help?” . . . Curiosity seekers are out and about, hoping to catch a personal glimpse of the damage (and having to repeatedly back away from downed electric lines). . . . And beneath all this are the sighs of discouragement, slowly but predictably giving way, this morning after the storm, to the realization that it could have been so much worse, and that together, we will pull through . . . for that is what the Lord has given us to do with His help.
“I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, and He will hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord . . . The clouds poured out water; the skies gave forth thunder; Your arrows flashed on every side. The crash of Your thunder was in the whirlwind; Your lightnings lighted up the world; the earth trembled and shook. . . . And You led Your people like a flock . . . ” (from Psalm 77)
