What the Storm Revealed
Today, it’s storming. Hard.
And it’s taking me back to a moment on the road while Marco and I were living in our RV, Frank.
We were driving from Mississippi to Tennessee along the Natchez Trace Parkway.
If you’ve never been, it’s absolutely breathtaking.
The entire drive felt like we were riding between the storms.
Blue skies stretched above us while dark clouds lingered in the distance.
It felt like somehow we had slipped right through the middle of it all.
Eventually, we arrived at our destination for the night—an absolutely beautiful state park.
It was just us.
Completely alone.
We couldn’t believe it.
We were parked right next to the water, and everything about it felt peaceful.
Quiet.
Still.
I remember sitting there thinking how lucky I was to be experiencing this moment.
It truly was the calm before the storm.
About thirty minutes later, the tornado sirens started going off.
Alerts came through our phones telling us to take cover immediately.
The problem was…
We didn’t have any cover.
There wasn’t a shelter nearby.
There wasn’t anywhere to go.
Even packing up and trying to leave would have been pointless.
The storms were already surrounding us.
So I opened the shades and watched.
I’ve always loved storms.
I wasn’t afraid of them growing up.
Not until people around me kept telling me I should be.
That they were dangerous.
That I needed to fear them.
So somewhere along the way, I became conflicted.
Part of me was scared.
Part of me still wasn’t.
Because if I’m honest…
I’ve always had this strange desire to stand right in the middle of one.
To feel the rain against my skin.
The wind whipping around me.
To experience the raw power of something so much bigger than me.
There has always been something healing about a storm.
Something honest.
Something that strips away the illusion that we’re ever really in control.
Sitting in that RV, there wasn’t a single thing I could do to change what was happening outside.
The storm didn’t care that we’d found the perfect campsite.
It didn’t care that we’d rather have another quiet evening by the water.
It didn’t care that we had nowhere to hide.
It was simply doing what storms do.
And maybe that’s true of life, too.
We spend so much energy trying to control what was never ours to control.
Other people’s choices.
Timing.
Outcomes.
Circumstances.
The future.
But the one thing that has always belonged to us…
is how we meet what’s in front of us.
Maybe that’s why storms have always felt strangely comforting to me.
They remind me how small I am.
Not in a hopeless way.
In a freeing one.
Whatever will happen…
will happen.
Trying to control it doesn’t change it.
It only changes how much peace we have while we’re living through it.
Some storms are gentle.
They water the flowers.
Feed the trees.
Cleanse the air.
Others leave destruction behind.
But even then…
life has an incredible way of growing again.
Maybe the storm isn’t revealing itself.
Maybe it’s revealing us.
Do we fear it?
Do we run from it?
Do we exhaust ourselves trying to control it?
Or do we breathe?
Do we steady ourselves?
Do we trust that no matter what happens outside of us…
we’ll find our way back home inside ourselves?
Because the storm isn’t just the tornado.
It’s the unexpected email.
The difficult conversation.
The diagnosis.
The delay.
The opportunity you didn’t think you were ready for.
The uncertainty you never asked for.
The storm reflects how we respond to life every single day.
Not just during the obvious storms…
but in all the small moments that quietly ask us the same question:
Can you stay with yourself here, too?
Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved storms.
They remind me that peace was never going to come from controlling the weather.
It comes from learning how to stand within it.
Reflection Questions
- What storms are you trying to control right now?
- What would change if you stopped trying to predict every outcome?
- How do you usually respond when life feels uncertain?
- What helps you return to yourself in the middle of the storm?
- What invisible sentence have you been believing about uncertainty?
- What sentence are you choosing instead?
