Memories

Memories.

April 11, 2015, a beautiful spring day, full of promise—green grass, bright daffodils, and swelling buds.  A lot of buggies are going past the house—Amish men headed into town for the huge spring machinery sale.  We call it Amish reunion day.  You almost need to see it to believe it.  Quite a few straw hats appearing now—that’s all the evidence we need that warm weather is here for a while.

The thunderstorms that rolled through this week were reminders of some childhood memories along Neff Road, near Elida, Ohio.  I can remember my brothers, Wes and Gene, and myself standing in the in the dark, in the living room of the old farmhouse.  The lightning would flash brightly and we would all yell and fall crashing to the floor as if struck down. We’d lay there as the thunder rumbled loudly, then get up and wait for the next flash.  What fun!  Then one day a vicious electrical storm sent a bolt of lightning into our house wiring and out through our stove.  The boom was deafening, and the stove burst into flames.   Wes managed to unplug it, and the fire went out, but the lightning wasn’t so much fun after that.

Exactly fifty years ago today, April 11, 1965, was a day I will never forget.  It changed me.  Made me realize how small and insignificant we are, and how powerless we are when faced with the raw, brute force of nature.  The events of this day provoked in me a terror of storms that lasted quite a few years, and a vivid memory that can still be resurrected without difficulty.  

It was Palm Sunday that April day many years ago when the group of tornadoes ripped through several states, including western Ohio—the area where we lived.  It was a Sunday night, and we were at church.  The air was too calm and sultry.  Lightning was flashing, and the small amount of sky that was still discernible, was dark and ominous.  Suddenly, the lights went out.  Complete darkness enveloped us.   Steadily, the storm raced towards us, and the darkness was interrupted frequently by brilliant flashes of lightning and the increasing volume of nearly-continuous thunder.  There was nothing to do but find our cars in the dark and head for home.  We had no idea what had already happened west of us, and what was headed our way.

When it was all said and done, hundreds of  lives were lost to this outbreak of tornadoes.  In our own community, a number of buildings were flattened, and many others badly damaged.  There were thirteen deaths in Allen County—some were not far from our home.

Ever since the day the stove lit up, storms scared me.  After Palm Sunday, my fear was ratcheted to numbers that were off the charts.  Every dark cloud, and every flash of lightning was something to be dreaded.  It took a long time for these feelings to mellow out, and I suppose the fallout still remains to a certain degree.  I am one of the first to head to the basement when the sky turns green and black, and the wind pushes great sheets of rain horizontally.  But here’s the thing; if you live long enough, and you love being outdoors, there will come a time when you are out there, and a storm is racing in, and there ain’t a thing you can do about it.

When my oldest son was a teenager, he and some friends arranged for a father/son canoe trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.  This is an enormous place of pristine wilderness located in the boundary area between Minnesota and Canada.  Once you embark on your canoe trip, you’re out there away from civilization for the duration.  It’s an amazing place, where one can really relax away from it all.  The trip was great,  the fishing excellent, and the bonding of fathers and sons while camping, paddling, and working together was great.  So several years later, I repeated the adventure with my second son.  Again, a wonderful trip.   Then my whole family wanted to do it together.

It was July, and our mini-van was loaded down with seven people and luggage.  This trip included son Mike’s wife, Dawn.  He was the only one of our children married at that time. Within one hundred miles of our destination, in Duluth, Minnesota, our transmission went out.

I could write a lengthy report of how we were cared for when that mishap took place, but let’s just say, we feel it was more than coincidence that the transmission failed precisely in front of a transmission shop—right beside us!  The campground that was our destination, and point of departure for canoeing, had a van, and they came and picked us up.  One week later, they brought us back to our repaired van.  The campground is called “Wilderness Wind”, and it is a Christian organization operated by a Mennonite board of directors.

So, without too much loss of time, we made it our destination.  Now for the fun of wilderness camping in an area where there are wolves and bears, good fishing and wild blueberries.   For the next week, canoeing would be our only mode of transportation, unless you consider the frequent portages between the strings of lakes and creeks.

On our second day out, we were crossing a large lake after a difficult portage.  The air was heavy and sultry, and we were hot and sweaty.  We were really looking forward to setting up camp and going into the lake for a refreshing swim.  The darkening sky behind us, however, was predicting a change of plans.  It was obvious that a storm was brewing, and we were going to get caught.  

We managed to beach the canoes and pulled them up on land where they would be safe, and hurriedly set up the tents and the rain fly.  Before we were quite finished, the storm struck with surprising fury.  The ladies dove into a tent while the men scurried around trying to secure everything.  One of the canoes threatened to fly away, so we rushed over to them and tied them down better.  Then, an unoccupied tent was yanked from its moorings, and began a tumbling march towards the lake.  We raced after it—managing to catch it just before it flew away, and stuffed it under the rain fly.  

A glance toward the lake made me glad we were on land. The water was a mass of large waves and boiling whitecaps.  The rain was coming down in such torrents that it was difficult to see the difference between lake and sky.  It would have been really dangerous if we had been caught out there.  The lightning was very close now, and the thunder was booming deafeningly.  Another glance around the camp and it seemed like things were staying in place, so I joined Juanita, Dawn, Betsy and Angie in the tent.  Huddling there drenched, cold, and scared, I made note of the metal tent frame and remembered the tall pine trees overhead.   Considering what lightning is attracted to, this seemed like a pretty dangerous situation.  Fear began to tug at me, but I needed to appear calm and confident for the ladies.  

At this very moment, I was wearing a tee-shirt that the camp had given us.  The message imprinted on the back said,  “He makes winds His messengers.” Psalms 104:4.  Although I’m not really sure what the Psalmist had in mind when he wrote it, it was clear to me that we were no match for the awesome power of the storm raging around us.  What does one do when there is no place to go but a flimsy tent?  The wind became God’s messenger that day, telling me to let my fear turn into trust.   

The storm passed eventually, and we were treated to an unbelievably gorgeous sunset.  Brilliant hues of red, orange, and yellow mingled with the glowing, billowing clouds.  Words can’t begin to describe it, and the photos we took don’t do it justice.  We stood there, almost transfixed by the artwork in the sky, and I could sense the still small voice of the Lord saying, “I was with you in the storm . . . now here’s a little something I thought you would enjoy.”

And that’s it for today, friends.  From Kidron, Ohio.  Take a walk outside and note all the colors that weren't there two weeks ago.  Have a wonderful Spring.