From that day on, I was terrified of the wind. I sat in the rocker in the small, cleared space in the center of the tipi, rocking steadily in an effort to soothe myself. My hands covered my ears trying to block out the rush of the wind as it roared from the west and rushed through the tree tops above us. I prayed – begging God to stop the wind. I knew he could – He was master of the wind and the waves. I begged him to calm the wind, so afraid that it would once again try to tear away the thin layer of canvas – the only thing between us and the harsh, early spring weather – the only thing we had left to call home.
This morning I heard about the 634,000 Haitians still living in tent cities, at the mercy of the approaching tropical storm Emily, and my heart went out to them. I know what it feels like to have your only home in possession of the wind. It’s not just inconvenient, people. It’s terrifying. Pray for the Haitians. Pray for the little children. Pray. It’s something we can do.