In the summer of 2010 on what started to be a beautiful, sunny, warm Friday, I left work early. I remember a calmness and quiet that day, feeling like my life couldn’t be going in a better direction. My son was yet a toddler and had fallen asleep in the car.
We drove home.
I laid him on the couch and chose to use the quiet time to work on my studies and my future business as a Health Coach in my office. My office is in the West facing side of our home. It’s beautiful and I can see for miles. I often watch birds or the cats playing out front.
My husband called. I picked up the phone and walked to my West facing window, assuming I’d be looking out to a beautiful vision of rolling plains and the distant Rocky Mountains that I love so much.
Instead, I could see it coming. Dark, dangerous looking clouds loomed in the distance. The clouds were changing quickly and I found what started out as a quiet happy conversation, changing quickly to, “I need to go get Dom. I’ll call you in a few”.
I hung up the phone, ran and grabbed my son, and, as fast as I could, descended the stairs – door closing behind me.
In no more than a minute, glass crashed and the winds were wailing above our heads. We could hear thunderous hail, landing on the wood floors breaking every window it could reach on the West side of the house. Splintering wood, and smashing against every hard surface.
In minutes, the quiet resumed. I was crying. All I could think about was the previous years all the work my husband put into the house – building it – wall by wall, floor by floor with his heart, and every ounce of energy he had. We had just put the finishing touches on it in April of that same year….nearly 10 years after we started. It was crushing to think of the damage. To hear it being broken down.
I cautiously climbed to the top of the stairs ordering my son to stay put at the bottom so I could see that we were safe.
He was crying too.
We were in the eye of the storm. My instincts told me to return to the basement for another round of hail, wind and glass.
What seemed like eternity, but was truly only minutes, the storm raged.
Then passed.
Again, every thing was quiet. This time…too quiet.
I left the house through the front door. Everything was white. Every thing was quiet.
The storm had killed the birds that couldn’t move fast enough. Even the fox that was hiding under the front porch came out battered and deeply frightened.
My heart broke. The house was a wreck.
But in the same note, I held the deepest gratitude for the timely warning. I could see it coming, and because of that, my son and I were safe.
I’m reminded of this summer today, as a dark winter storm looms over the prairie coming quickly from the west. The practice of presence allows me to know how long I have to get everything secured and prepared for the coming winds and snow. I have quickly cared for all our creatures, making sure their beds have hay, they have water and their shelters are stable and secure.
In my heart, I know that I am safe and so is my family. I was reminded that summer of the gift of presence and listening to my gut.
Have you ever been in a position where you feel you were warned and can look back with clarity that it made a difference in the outcome?
I’d love to hear about your story!
In vibrant health,
Tammi
Mom Positive 