The moment of seeking shelter under our dining room. The fear.
The moment of seeing the clouds part and the sky shine through as the storm passed. The hope.
The moment of thinking it was gone. The unawareness of despair and pain.
The moment of settling in for the night. The peace.
The moment of one last phone call to make sure all is well. The care.
The moment of six hurried words and a click on the other end. The fear.
The moment of thinking, readying, preparing. For anything.
The moment of one last email check, is all well? The assuredness. Surely it is.
The moment of hurried feet on the stairs, the fear in her eyes. She is never upset.
The moment of knowing your friends are without a home. The helplessness.
The moment of finding out that no one can contact the other family in the valley. Helplessness.
The moment of sending your dad into the dark and rain. No preparedness for whats ahead.
The moment of the his lights fading away and no cell service. Tears, fear, and shaking.
The moment of waiting, waiting, waiting, and watching. The prayers. Whispered.
The moment of calling a sweet family in town and telling them their best friends were unaccounted for. The hardness of saying it.
The moment of laying down to rest. Trying to sleep. The sleeplessness.
The moment of waking in the night. Crying, shaking, praying. Begging God. Let them get the Lees out.
The moment of the morning. The hope that comes with sunshine. The quiet of the house.
The moment of the news. Mr. Lee died last night. The tears, the prayers, the sadness.
The prayers and tears that morning. The sadness mixed with joy unbelievable. God is in control, he alone sits on the throne.
This week, we can't stop wishing we had one more day of normal. Of blissful peace. One more moment before the email, before the call, before our world was turned upside down.
Only God can help us, sustain us, and lead us on. Our prayers are with the people out here, suffering, but knowing God is in control.