The frightened disciples asked Jesus to save them from the storm at sea.
“39 And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And
the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
40 And he said unto them, why are ye so fearful? How is it that ye have no faith?
The Wind! by Barbara Morgan
The disciples were afraid of the wind, and so am I!
An old Ledger Enquirer Newspaper article reads:
“A strong tornado struck Columbus on April 18, 1953. Seven people died. Over three hundred were injured.”
I know that storm well. There were no tornado sirens, nor weather radar reports back then. Our Daddy was our civil defense. I was only 4 years old, but even now, when wind blows loudly against my window, the memory plays in my mind just like a slow motion movie.
I remember running to keep up with Daddy as we went room to room and window to window in our new home. A serious look was on his face. The afternoon sky had suddenly darkened, like night. His hand grabbed mine and squeezed. “Stay with me,” he said. He called out to my mother and sister, “Hurry! Get the pets. Get in the hall.” “Hurry! The barometer is dropping fast! Here, get here in this part of the hall. We need to shut the doors.” “Slam! Slam! “ “Barbara, sit with me. I need to put my back against this door.”
I noticed Daddy was breathing fast, quick breaths. I sat rigidly in his lap. Then I heard the wind. Only a whistling sound at first, next a loud roar, and then an explosion! Crashing windows! Broken glass and flying things in the living room were pounding on the door behind daddy. I could feel his strength as he pushed back against the shifting door. I suddenly realized that wind was actually blowing inside my house, smashing it, like one of my toys.
Objects came alive in my mind. Papers from my sister’s room flew into the hall, whirling into the air like flocks of frightened birds, up and out through the banging louvers of the attic fan. Furniture marched out into the hallway. My sister’s nightstand and chair came out of her room and stopped beside us.
The attic stairway above opened and slammed repeatedly. I saw daylight in the attic! I looked around at the frightened faces of my family. Over the loud roar, I heard my mother call out, “Pray, Barbara! Pray!” I began to pray, “Thank you God for the world so sweet! Thank you, God, for the food we eat! Thank you, God, for the birds that sing! Thank you, God, for everything!”
“Pray it again, Barbara! Pray it louder!” Mama said.
I did, and finally silence…stillness….peace.
Our house was wrecked, but we were safe.
Over the years, my parents enjoyed telling the story of my voice calling out such a childish prayer during a fierce tornado. It was funny to them, but not to me.
I’ve weathered many storms of life since then. And now, when I’m surrounded by a raging wind, fear and doubt, I remember my mother saying, “Pray it again, Barbara! Pray it again!”
“Thank you, God, for the world so sweet…..”
And it brings me peace.