What a storm uncovers

As the good people of the great state of Oklahoma dig out of this mess, a lot of things will be discovered.  The extent of each family’s loss will be calculated: first by the insurance company, then by the banks, and finally by the people themselves.  What the businesses are concerned about and what the people are concerned about may differ.  The bank will not care that a wedding album was lost or baby pictures destroyed.  Report cards and Citizenship Awards from 1^st grade will not be on the books of the bank nor the insurer. 

Some things will have survived against all odds.  There are always these little glimmers of hope even in the biggest disasters.  There will be stories of folks who are safe because they had to stop somewhere and so they weren’t home when the storm hit their house.  These stories will be uncovered.

I live far away.  I have not been in Oklahoma since I was a girl and my grandparents moved from Missouri to Texas.  Because of that, so we no longer drove through and stopped to visit cousins in Valliant, Oklahoma on the annual pilgrimage.  It has been many years since I’ve seen the farm where I first rode a horse, the same one my father rode in his youth.  It has been as many years since I fed any chickens.  It has been even more years since I visited with my Great Aunt Ida who has long since been with the Lord.

I’ve been thinking about all of that today.  My paternal grandmother, Miriam Elizabeth Olson, nee Shirley, was born in Cherokee County Oklahoma.  Her brother-in-law Bert Thurber, born a year or two earlier in the same place, was born in Indian Territory.  So if Laurey and Curly in the musical Oklahoma had had a baby within a year or so of getting married, that child would be the same age as my grandmother of sainted memory.

Today, I live in Miami-Dade.  It is the 7^th most populous county in the country.  I am surrounded by accents from all over Latin and South America.  But my roots are uncovered today.  My people, born in Oklahoma, Colorado, Mississippi and Texas – western people and southern people are on my mind today.  (For the record, I was born in Baton Rough, LA.)  In my head, I’m talking again in a Texas accent. 

I am praying for my people.  As Nehemiah prayed for his people, I pray for mine.  As Jesus wept for his people, I weep for mine.  May God bless the people of Oklahoma and help them recover.  May they know again the joy of home.  May they know the shelter love.  May they again feel safe.  As they uncover all of their losses, may they also uncover their resilience and their faith.