Tornadoes ruin Date Nights

Last night, Biceps and I finished our puppet box project for a church here in town earlier than expected. (Unfamiliar with this side of my life? This is what I’m referring to):

Once aforementioned box was completed, we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We actually had a few hours of free time.

So, we came up with a brilliant plan-date night!

However, this started rolling in-along with thunder, rain and lightening. However, we forged ahead with our plans. I got the hairdryer out, the make-up bag and the hairspray. I wanted to look good for my man. I even remembered deodorant.

Then, we started noticing all of the outdoor events we were to partake of were being cancelled. People were talking of getting into their storm shelters. Sissies, I thought. I’ve seen worse.

The weatherman put a big red blob across my state and plastered it with, “Tornado Warning.” I sighed and washed the make-up off my face.

Tornadoes are stupid. Instead of being able to cuddle up and relax like you would with a snowstorm, you spend two hours watching the news and prepping for the inevitable. The storm chasers describe the scene with glee, the same video of touch-downs keeps rolling and you finally give up and go to bed.

Tornadoes ruin date nights. The weather owes me one.

Do you know your father’s voice?

Dear Readers:

Do you have that one friend that you may not hear from for a year, but you know their voice instantly when you pick up the phone? It has a familiar timbre-that familiar pitch-and you are back in conversation as if no time has passed at all.

I feel that way each time a storm rolls in. Growing up in Kansas, thunderstorms came with a fury and intensity I have yet to see in Oklahoma. Within a moments notice, the blue sky would turn a sickly green and then a deep black. It would rip open as lightening splintered across the sky, and a piercing crack would echo throughout the plains.

Thunder would fester from within the earth, grumbling all the way to the surface until it finally would scream into the atmosphere, shaking the paintings on our walls.

As a child, the storms fascinated me, scared me, humbled me and intoxicated me.

The older I got, my love affair with storms grew. I found covering outside to watch as the storm brewed over the field in my backyard. I loved the stillness right before the storm. The birds became silent and found shelter. The hay stopped swaying and the earth grew quiet for a moment. Suddenly, a loud clap would wake everything up and rain would pour down on me.

I heard the voice of my Father calling to me through those storms, reminding me of who He is. And as the hot rain fell on my skin, I would feel the cleansing power of water-of baptism.

My Father speaks to me in many ways-but my favorite is through a storm. A storm is unpredictable, beautifully dangerous, radically different and fiercely chaotic. But in the end, the earth has been cleansed and a sweet peace falls as the storm moves on.

It reminds me of my God. He will shake me to the core, He will cleanse me and He will bring me peace. I know the Father’s voice so intimately that I not only hear it in every storm, but throughout every day as I keep in constant communication with Him.

Do you know your Father’s voice?

Le Mansion Next Door & Le Storm

You might have seen the craziness of Biceps and I pouring our neighbor’s new concrete steps.
For the last several days, Biceps and I have been strapping on our tool belts to build that same neighbor an overhang to match her beautiful new steps.

You can see Biceps half on the ladder, half on the roof making measurements and solving riddles on how to tie on the rafters.
I am down below sipping water and documenting things.
I needed a break.

This purty columns rests on a cinder block which we filled with concrete and then wrapped in 3/4” plywood.
Those suckers ain’t goin’ nowheres. (Okie talk).
They aren’t painted yet, so don’t get your shorts in a bunch. They’ll look much better when finished completely.
Our neighbor said her home was starting to feel like a mansion. How cute is that?

After installing all of the rafters, cross bracing systems and the spine board, we decked the top with 3/4” plywood and then covered it all up in tar paper. This took way too long and I have way too many bruises from this process.

Next came the horrible day of shingling the roof. By the end of the day, I had roofing tar stuck under my fingernails, on my face and somehow in my ears.
Did I take a nap on the hot roof? Who knows, the hot sun makes me do strange things from time to time.

I added some facia to attach the gutters to. I cried when my second board came up too short.
I had even done the ‘measure twice, cut once’ routine.
What is the matter with me? Too much tar in my system is my excuse.

We added tar paper to the front of the overhang, although it didn’t really need it. We’ll put vinyl siding on the face of it soon. But, we heard a storm was a ‘brewin and wanted to take extra precaution to keep the entire thing dry.
And thank God for Biceps’ biceps. He had to manually lift up this entire overhang with a 2×6 while I stood on a ladder and slid the wainscoting over the pillar tops.
I kept making references to Samson, but somehow he didn’t find them funny at the time.
We nailed all of the wainscoting in place, and not a moment too soon.

I felt a drip and then another.
‘I hope it’ll blow over’, I tell Biceps. ‘I want to get this thing done!’

However, the sky in a matter of seconds turned into this.
We made a mad dash to pick up all of our tools.

The wind picked up speed. The trees rustled. The kitties hid.

It looks like the sky is about to swallow up my neighbors.
Run Lee and Ina! Run!

At about this moment, I decided maybe I should head inside and give up my hopes of this storm ‘blowing over’.
And force myself instead to enjoy a nice cup of coffee and a shower.
It was a tough decision, let me tell you.