Across the Ozarks
When I was a kid, nothing scared me more than tornados. And, unlike many childhood fears, I know the exact point that I became painfully fearful of the terrorizing twisters.
We lived in Bolivar, Mo., at the time. I couldn't have been older than 2nd grade. It was a dreary afternoon, the kind when it's daytime but the whole house is dark. My dad was gone and my mom and younger sisters were napping.
I was watching t.v. and stumbled upon a documentary about the Holocaust.
As black and white, scratched images of young children tattooed with their identification number, and Nazi soldiers marching through the streets of Germany came across the screen, I grew very fearful.
But my fear was solidified when the next documentary came on, about the most destructive tornadoes in American history. It was just too much for my little 9-year-old spirit. I didn't walk away with a fear of Nazi Germany. No, instead, I developed an utter terror of the F-1's, 2's, 3, 4, 5's…
A lot has changed since I was a kid… at least when it comes to what I really fear. We all endured the recent storms across the Ozarks. You may have spent the night in your basement, or at a friend’s house who has a basement…
I know many of you faced loss during that storm. If not you, it’s a guarantee you know someone who knows someone who suffered loss, were it a barn, a home, a well-kept residence that is now scattered with debris.
Really, perhaps the scariest thing of all would be to sift through the troubles caused by a storm, alone.
I hope you will consider your neighbors in their times of need, and always be willing to reach out and help those devastated by unexplainable occurrences. Like the saying says, “If you light a lamp for somebody, it will also brighten your path.”