Looking Forward After Storms

A few nights ago, I pulled on my pajams, desperately hoping for a decent night's sleep, despite the severe storm warning issued for my area. I'd already experienced a couple days of health issues, an emotionally charged week, the unexpected expense of a plumbing repair, and two sleepless nights. I was no longer in functional mode. I simply needed sleep and could focus on nothing else until I got it. So after swalling a glass of water with my nightly medicine, I turned on my bedroom fan to block out noise of potential thunder or gusty winds, pulled a sleep mask over my eyes to avoid any lightning shows, and burrowed myself comfortably under the covers.
 
I was still sleeping deeply when my alarm went off at 7:15 the next morning, surprised that I had slept straight through turbulent winds and fierce weather that usually wake me up so easily.
 
Then as I clicked on-line, my heart suddenly sank. Not only had severe storms struck our area, but an EF2 tornado had ripped an angry path through my hometown, about twenty miles north of my current residence. I felt near tears as I gazed at unbelievable photos showing the damage inflicted on homes and property of people I've known my whole life, places in my heritage strongly imprinted in my memories. People who had spent years building their livelihoods had them lifted from the ground and scattered in shambles all around them, in an instant.
 
"But the people are still okay, the people are still okay," I murmured to myself, trying to fight the grief I felt inside and feeling the sickening horror of "what might have been," had things turned out even a slightly bit worse.
 
On the midday news, a reporter interviewed the lady that everyone in my hometown knows as "Esli." She and her husband run a business called The Garden Patch, which includes a shop on Main Street and a farm a couple miles away with fresh produce, plants, gifts, and other local products. The majority of their farm business was completely demolished and lay scattered across the fields in unfathomable ruin. As the interviewer asked Esli questions, her head wrapped in a toboggan from the cold January air, she described the storm's early morning arrival and witnessing the aftermath in the light of day, her eyes often glancing at the overwhelming debris surrounding her. She expressed thankfulness that she and her family were alive and safe, and gratitude for the support and offers of help pouring in from the community.

Then right as the reporter began wrapping up the interview and I was wiping back tears, Esli piped back into the microphone and said (paraphrased), "Oh! And we just want to remind everyone that the greenhouses will still be open in March!" My face broke into a smile, and my tears melted into appreciative laughter.

She was looking ahead.

Despite the destruction of an unexpected winter tornado
and the pain that was assuredly gripping her heart,
she was looking towards spring.

Despite the chaos and devastation
still being so recent she had to carefully step over its rubbish,
she was casting her vision forward.

God, help me do that. 
  
Despite the uncertainties of my life,
despite the past that could so easily cloud my decisions or alter my self-perception,
help me look ahead.
Despite the unexpected storms that lurk in the darkness of winter,
help us all look towards spring.

Storms have struck in each of our lives,
and though we still often seem to be walking through filth
and sifting through the refuse that remains,
help us not keep our eyes there.

God, help us look forward.