The Storm

The Storm

The day was muggy and hot. The doors and windows in the house on the hill were wide open to catch even the slightest breeze. Cooking was almost unbearable. Mama's hair was pulled back into a bun but the stray hair framing her face and the wayward strings of hair on her neck were wet with sweat. We kids tried to play in the shade of the mulberry trees but the sullen day pulled the energy out of us and we fussed and bickered, punched and shoved; finally winding up on the front porch in a mood that matched the sullen, stifling day. Even the chickens seemed agitated, pecking and sqawlking at one another. The mother hen chirped and scratched the ground, pecking at leaves and grass trying to keep her little family together.

It first began with just a haze along the western horizon. a heaviness but hardly noticed. It hang there in the early afternoon like an autumn weariness. After a while the haze turned grayish blue, a welcome change, a hope of rain. An occasional spontaneous breeze whisked sand and leaves into a whirl wind that raced across the yard, disturbing the chickens and then dissipating into the tall cotton plants near by.

Then a low rumble of thunder. We're not even sure it is thunder. It is just a quiet rumble that fades into the hum of bees and wasps. In a few minutes we hear it again. Then again. It soons becomes louder and and more menacing. Gradually the sky turns dark; a dark bluish black. The dark hue spreads across the horizon. The storm begins to define itself with dark rolling clouds that seemed to pull the smooth dark sky upward covering the sun. The hot humid air is swallowed up by a cool brisk breeze straight off the dark, approaching storm.

The mother hen clucked frantically, trying to encourage her baby chickens under the house to shelter. They half run, half fly toward the security of the house. The cool wind helped them along, turning their tails over their heads, blowing them under the porch to safety under their mother's wings.

Mama met us at the door as we came running in ahead of the storm. Lightening cracked across the sky followed immediately by deafening thunder.

"You kids get out of the door and stay away from the windows!" she warned as the lightening and thunder increased.

Mama rushed from one window to the next closing them. She left them slightly open to stabilize air pressure as if the cracks and creveses in the old hourse weren't enough. Suddenly the storm was upon us.

"Sit on the bed!," Mama said, "And stay there!"

We were never allowed to sit or lay on the bed. We knew better than to dive into the comforting feather bed, so we sat there on the side of the bed, feet dangling, hearts racing and eyes wide with fear.

Mama walked the floor until the back door opened and Daddy and the boys hurried inside. They struggled to close the door against the wind. The men stood in the kitchen wiping their faces on their sleeve and slapping their hats on their legs to rid them of water. Mama took her place at the head of the bed to wait out the storm. The head of the bed pressed hard against the supporting wall that ran the length of the house. We all watched helplessly as the walls of the house on the hill bent toward us then relaxed. The walls continued to bend, relax, bend, relax with the pulse of the storm.

Just as quickly as the storm arrived, it was gone, leaving behind cool clear air. Droplets of water hang on the leaves of the trees, water dripped from the eves of the house and inviting puddles of water beaconed from low places in the muddy yard. The storm raced eastward across East ditch toward the Horseshoe farm. We were safe.

The house on the hill was void of cushy comforts. There were no soft cushioned sofas or chairs. There were no carpets or lamps. The rooms were lighted by a single light bulb that dangled from the ceiling. Wooden walls with heavy gray paper tacked over them surrounded the family living in the house on the hill. But, the house on the hill was a refuge from familial, physical, and emotional storms that came our way. We always found comfort, peace and safety in that old house and in the one who ministered within its walls.

Even today, when the storms of life come my way, I retreat in my heart and mind to the security of the House on the Hill.