In the wake of tragedy -- prayers for our fellow bereaved Americans...

Devastating tornadoes lash the mid-South.

Friday night was a bad night, a terrifying night, in the Southern Heartland. These weather events, unpredictable and often devastating, chill those who live with them, and I knew, as the temperature increased, going from 65 to 71 after midnight - peaking at 73 at two-in-the-morning - that this was bad… Seventy-three degrees? At 0300? Two weeks before Christmas?

That’s a problem.

In Nashville, where I live on the upper level of a two-story building, I grasped the situation—but you never fully grasp it. You wait and listen and pray, and there’s nothing to do, as you monitor reports, but hand it to God… And hunker down.

Because it feels like battle.

Yes, I make that analogy, because their ominous nature, their unpredictability, lends twisters the veneer of Armies In The Night. This is how war feels—or must… Because an attack is coming - imminent - and you know not from where, know not when, and lack clarity as to how or just how many... You just know it's coming, that it can’t be stopped, and that in the darkness, like a burgeoning army, is something profane, evil, and mad.

So, yes, I waited… No going to bed. (If I’m going to be obliterated, I want to die fighting.) Nashville Severe Weather, a storm-tracker, estimated that the tornado-warned line would reach Nashville at 3:00 a.m.—3:30 tops… And the closer it got, the more precise they became.

On the landing, at hallway’s end, I scanned west, well-positioned. At 3:05 the lightning started - distant flashes - and I finished my beer. Yeah, I was drinking... It was 73 degrees on December 10th with “eerie,” the adjective, frog-marching my senses, and as I watched it, a Wave of Doom, form, I didn’t know whether, come first light, I’d know angels.

I went inside, stuffed my computer in a pack, found a gallon of water, and returned to the landing, where the lighting-laced front could have been a German blitzkrieg. Nash Severe Weather tweeted: TAKE SHELTER…. The rain began. Thunder boomed. And trees, no longer expectant, began to thrash—louder, louder and louder, they grew, as the rain changed angles, spiked in intensity, and the scene exploded… I sprinted downstairs.

You want to be in the middle. You want to avoid outer walls. Ground floors, because the top floors go first, are preferable. But if the twister is big enough, strong enough - an F-4 - it won’t matter. Above ground there’s no shelter from a nuclear bomb. A tornado circulating at 300 miles per hour is to a house, a condo, an apartment building, a nuke… Dead is dead, with or without radiation.

But, thankfully, I didn’t die… In the hallway, I froze like a hawk-threatened rabbit. And in roughly one minute (so it seemed), it roared through. They come quickly, leave quicker, violence conceding to calm. Adrenalin ebbs in line with thunder—fading, distant... NSW said the wind - the meteorological “straight-line” - hit 100 m.p.h., but didn’t rotate… Thank God.

I returned to the landing, where I toasted fortune as the rain continued and the trees suspired and a beer, in gratitude and celebration, was necessary. Little did I know, as I wound down and went to bed (at 5:03), that Kentucky had been leveled, several towns, as in war. That nearly 100 people, not so lucky, were meeting angels.

When I found out, I cried, for it hits close to home. We, in the South and Midwest, have bonds born of tragedy shared through the ages. Small towns, rural towns… America’s best are also its most vulnerable.

And, as for politics, Joe Biden is depraved. Prior to Friday, 24 out of the 25 deadliest tornadoes in U.S. history ALL occurred before 1953... Biden, the Democrats, and the media, are disgusting. These storms have NOTHING to do with “climate change.”

But enough with that nonsense. Unconscionable liars manipulate tragedy; whereas, good Americans, REAL Americans, assist, mourn, and pray. God is with us in light and darkness, and through every trial, no matter how devastating, God's grace and power - His holy promise - remains.

~ Greg Halvorson

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