All Will Be Well

"The opposite of war isn't peace- it's creation." -- RENT

Where there is thunder there is surely lightning. Storms have been brewing and brambling through the south lands all week long. For the better part of the month we've been trying to shake off the red warnings on the radar and continue along as planned.

The bad part is that chaos, damage, and death serve as harsh reminders that nothing and no one is truly permanent. As the tornadoes have run rampant through this neck of the woods these reminders are constant and relentless. Like the storms themselves they always seem to be too close for comfort. One coworker lost most or all of his home last night. Another was miles from where a woman's body was found in the middle of the road where the winds had dropped her lifeless onto the pavement. Some people blame god, some people blame mankind, still some others blame themselves.

In the face of natural disasters there is no place for blame. There is only a place to pick up the pieces of what has been dismantled, twisted, or torn apart. It would be easy to point fingers. It's easiest to blame and accuse and to lash out. What's not easy is to sit down, tissues in one hand, glue gun in the other- and put the pieces back together bit by bit.

The good news- and there is always good news- is that just when you think it's all over those damn birds outside your window start to sing at three o'clock in the morning. The mail carrier actually shows up early so you look like an idiot when you put your netflix movie in the mailbox and it's still sitting there when you get home that evening. Some jerk cuts you off in traffic while you're running late to work. An ill tempered cohort makes a wise crack before you've gotten the blood out of your coffee stream. Finally life is blissful and normal and crazy and infuriating and beautiful. All. Over. Again.

The storm will pass.
And all will be well.
And all will be well.
And all manner of things will be well.
(I promise.)