GRACE OF GOD . . .

We swung by NHF tonight, long after the cops and crewmen and journalists and gawkers had gone home to bed. It was eerie, surreal, other-worldly.

One of the panes of the front stained-glass window is gone; apparently, it was just sucked out of its frame and ended up as a shattered, tangled mess down the block. There are things on the roof that don't naturally belong there; there are parts of the roof missing that should be there. The church van is smooshed; a car parked in front of the van is destroyed. Twisted -- and yes, now I know what it looks like when newspaper stories report "twisted tree branches" -- tree branches and portions of tree trunks lay flung about the church driveway. Entire tops of huge oak and maple trees rest against the church building. The solid iron railing is pulled and wrung away from its posts. There is a hole in the roof, maybe more than one.

But the cross over the rear entrance door is intact and hanging straight. The newly-installed front steps are just as sturdy and pretty as they were the day the stones were laid. The flowers lining the front walk are completely untouched; their stems are unbowed and the petals are not battened nor wilted. It's totally remarkable, miraculous and confusing how precise the tornado was, how it touched some places but not others, how its wind and debris would spare a delicate row of freshly-planted flowers but suck a heavy stained-glass window from its wrought-iron frame. Nature -- God -- is confusing and deliberate, careful and devastating all at once. It's a wonder to behold, even in aftermath.

When I read about other churches, temples and places of worship suffering some sort of devastation -- fire, flood, vandalism -- I always feel a particular pang for them. "Why?" I always ask myself, ask God, "why a place of worship, of all places?" But then, I always come to the conclusion that it makes sense. A church, a temple, a mosque all have built-in communities ready to rally, ready to raise funds, ready to come together in crisis mode to clean up and rebuild. And so it is I feel the same about NHF and its mother church, KCW. There is much healing that needs to be done, and for KCW in particular, a community that needs to be rebuilt itself. Perhaps our little tornado blew through today to knock some sense into some people.

It really could have been so much worse. More windows could have shattered, the roof could have disappeared completely, the building could have been utterly destroyed. Worse, the tornado could have touched down just a few yards over and cut a swath through the residential homes sitting behind NHF. The church is home to so many of us, but at least none of us live there. Everything that happened to NHF/KCW can be fixed, cleaned, polished, rebuilt. Come to think of it ... thank God the storm hit us and not too many others. Better us than them, I think.

(Still, it's scary. I was scared. I was devastated, even viewing and understanding that in the grand scheme of things, in light of other storm potentials, what touched down in our neighborhood was small fry. But NHF, so reliable and strong and ever-present, looked fragile in the night light, covered in leaves and sticks and debris, wrapped in yellow fire-department tape. I repeat that I'm glad the tornado hit the church and not the homes around it; I'm glad no one was hurt and that lives can still go on, for the most part as usual. I'm also glad that the damage was so minimal; really, it was. Even so ...)

***

Really, the worst thing about today -- millions of dollars in business loss and repair-work aside -- is seeing on the news that another hard-hit place is a street just one over from where NHF stands. Lots of Hispanic immigrants -- most, probably illegal, or just freshly legal -- and low-income families live on this street. The television footage of their homes -- trees atop houses and cars, downed power lines running up and down the street -- made me think of the people who live there. People without money to just write a check for clean-up or repairs. People probably without a great deal of insurance coverage. People who are not in a position to freely call their local authorities for help or advice. People who are not able to communicate easily with the power authority, the cable company, the police department.

It always seems to be the case -- I could go on and on about what I've learned and observed about this socio-economic phenomenon -- that the poorest and most underserved people live in the most devastated and disaster-prone areas. Well-to-do people can live on higher ground, on larger plots of land, away from a stormy seashore. They -- we -- can landscape their lawns so that trees lie far enough away from the houses to pose no real danger. They -- we -- can afford to build houses on stilts, to sit high above potential flood waters. Their houses are far enough apart from each other so that tornadoes can wind their way between homes, instead of right through them. But for everyone else ... thus was the ninth ward of New Orleans; thus was our neck of the woods today.

Yeah, maybe it's just bad luck. After all, a tornado can't tell the difference in different people's incomes. But the visual image confronting me on television tonight ... well, it did just that. It confronted me. I wish I could do something about it -- buy insurance for everyone, build everyone nice houses, get everyone a green card, teach everyone English and equip them all with the confidence needed to negotiate aid routes.

Hmmm. I come to no conclusion. I'm just thinking about all this, is all. Yeah, I know I was not really near the storm today; heck, I didn't even know two tornadoes touched down around here until Mabel told me about them. I missed all the good stuff, remember? But things like this -- weird, eerie, scary things like this -- make me think about things. All sorts of things ...

***

I go to bed tonight, finally, with so many prayers on my lips. Funny ... this morning, I woke up praying for myself, for my needs and my desires, for guidance of my life and thoughts.

I end the day prostrate before the Father of Creation, thanking Him for keeping us -- all of us -- safe; being grateful for fantastic emergency response crews and systems; beseeching Him to show His mercy and power upon those who are without power, air-conditioning, food, roofs or homes tonight; and wondering about the goal of His sovereign plan in the events of today. What are we to learn from today? How are we to help and care for each other? And how am I to turn all of this back to Him as praise?

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord.