First of all, it wasn’t my house. It was my neighbor’s house:
A crowd of us gather after the storm to check in, care for, and –oddly–crack jokes to lighten the mood. My daughters climb up to the attic and touch the tree.
It seems amazing: a tree shot straight through the house.
Nobody was hurt. In fact, we begin to count all the ways this could be worse. There’s this strange yet obvious spirit of gratitude for what wasn’t lost.
I think about this attitude all day and night. I want to cultivate the kind of thankfulness that remembers what is still here.
Perhaps that’s what storms do best.