I Can't Complain about the Rain

I can't complain about the rain today because of the morning I have had today. It started at 8 a.m. in front of our town post office. I gathered with other Heartworks members to take part in our annual flag-raising ceremony for the week before Memorial Day. I stood there with 12 men who at one point in their lives slept in ditches in the rain for my freedom. They wore wet, dirty clothes for days without a warm shower so that I can live in a place like Bernardsville and speak my mind and talk about God without being arrested or killed. The rain meant nothing to me as I stood beside a World War II veteran who once told me a story of losing all his friends the day his mess hall was bombed. He cried as he told me about it standing in a parking lot 70 years later. I figured if it had been my play group that was killed, I would be crying about 70 years later as well.

When I got home, I turned on the news to see Joplin, Mo., after a tornado hit the area yesterday. I was in downtown Bernardsville at a street fair with my three girls while that tornado ripped through Joplin. The devastation was so bad it caused the news reporter to break down during the coverage. It reminded me of volunteering at the Convention Center in Houston the week after Hurricane Katrina. Utter despair. Utter hopelessness. Utter devastation. I know what I felt like after John was killed, I know what I felt like after my dad died. Utter despair. Utter hopelessness. Utter devastation.

And yet my friends and neighbors were safe. My town was intact and we I have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in. I cannot begin to imagine what it would feel like to lose all these things at once. So today instead of complaining about the rain, I will pray for Joplin and other related areas and be grateful for things like spending too much money on crap at a street fair, mud being carried into my house on the bottom of my daughters' boots and the freedom to assemble at 4 this afternoon at an intact post office to stand with men who saved my life even before I was born.