Weathering storms

It’s so weird. It’s early August and the ponds overflow, the hay is plentiful, and yards are green. On the whole outdoor temperatures have been mild compared to previous years, and rainfall is again the forecast. After so many drought years, is this Missouri?
As I write gray clouds allow this dawn to keep slumbering. The gloom makes me pensive.
Despite what damage storms can cause, I like the excitement of a summer storm. The anticipation, the way colors change, the calm and then the coolness immediately preceding the display of raw power in thunder and lightning … it makes you feel alive, a reminder that you’re just a small part in things much bigger.
Not every storm experience is pleasant, of course.
Before we started our family, Liz and I lived in a mobile home. I awoke in terror one long night as thunderstorms gave way to a tornado. The rumbling wind overhead tested the strength of our trailer’s mooring; our bed literally shook on the floor. But the twister roaring above left nearly as quickly as it arrived. Then it rained, and things soon seemed normal. How oblivious to danger we become.
Once during another time, gray clouds loomed low over the farm. We’d spent two full days sod-busting ground that hadn’t seen a plow in decades. The west edge of the ground featured a rather steep hill lapping right up to the barn lot fence. It was the most visible pasture as anyone approached our house. We wanted it perfect.
We worked the ground loose and deep in hopes of a heavy growth of brome grass and fescue, but the seeds were not yet put to the ground. Threatening storm clouds promised either the moisture so badly needed or washout if the water fell too harshly. Whichever, the time before the first splash was short.
Dad’s decision surprised me. Rather than load the drill, he chained a small 2-wheel trailer onto the hitch of the old WD Allis-Chalmers. He quickly dumped several sacks of seed into the open trailer and climbed in, wearing the shoulder harness of a hand-crank seed sower.

I was years away from a driver’s license but I certainly knew the ways of a tractor. So, he barked out his intentions, directing me to the driver’s seat. Away we went, circling and spacing tire tracks so that the seeds broadly cast would barely overlap. There was no time to lose.
We started at the far end, so our first efforts seemed like practice leading to a climax on that last hill leading up to the barn. The heavy, thick air with lightning on the horizon threatened all kinds of uncertainties. It was grueling to work so long and so hard preparing for this planting and cruel if it only was to fail if the storm caused all the seeds to wash away. But no sooner had the last lap been made than an unexpectedly easy, soft rain fell. It was life-bearing moisture made to order — and we got the best stand of grass we ever planted.
Sometimes life’s surprises are like that.
Parenthood is weathering storms. Sometimes you sit on the dock with your toes in the water and watch kids jump and dive. Sisters splashing. Dunking each other the way brothers do. Laughter. Yet, you sit and see all kinds of worrisome possibilities … like when they wade out toward the deep end and look back as if to say, “You don’t have to watch us.”

As they grow older and the days of supervision are gone, you know that to be true. But you still watch. Because you want to.
They are in the water, and you are on the dock. Or they are on the court, and you are on the bleachers. Or they are in the emergency room, and you are in the waiting room. No matter how hard you’ve prepared or worked the ground, so much about life is simply out of your hands.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. The storm is growing closer. You always want to be protective. But really, that’s not how life works. Sometimes it’s impossible to dodge the storm, come what may. Sometimes it’s hard to understand the why of it all. And sometimes even the darkest times come with a silver lining and the storms you weather just make the good times all the more worthwhile. Because there are no guarantees.
Often a parent feels helpless. We watch as they hurt or stumble against challenges that must be faced, much like the parents before us. Sometimes there are no do-overs. Most times they will get up. It’s possible there may come a time when they don’t. That is the truth.
Good parents resist the anxieties and fear of all things that could or might go wrong. So, you walk down to the beach while still tracking the storm. Or you sit quietly and trust that the decisions of others benefit those you love more than any protection you might muster. You’re forced to wait out the storm. It’s not about you.
Old age makes you accept how much better young parents are. So, you know you don’t have to watch over them anymore. But you still do, because you want to.
Parenting, like life, changes. You simply try to drink it all in and appreciate it for what it is. Moment by moment. And whenever there’s no storm, when worries give way to a deep inner peace regardless of rain or shine, you give thanks to God for simple times when being together is enough. When it is more than enough.