It's 4:20 in the afternoon on a Monday, a quiet stillness fills the air. No sound of wind blowing, no birds singing, no crickets or grasshoppers chirping, not even the sound of rescue sirens, just an eerie silence; all of this just 20 minutes after a 2 mile-wide tornado rips through a small town near Oklahoma City. There are 2 horses seen grazing in a field amongst the ruins of what was once the Orr Family Farm. A couple more horses are seen wandering in disarray with blood on them. A shirtless young man filled with black soot crawls out from underneath a shredded piece of metal unscathed. For some reason I was able to view all of this live as it was unfolding, safe from my home in sunny Chicagoland. I was working on some projects on my laptop and somehow found a live feed from a local television station in Oklahoma City.
The gentleman who owned the farm for 40 years was sitting in a golf cart surveying the damage of what was barely left from the storm. As the camera scrolled toward the man you could see in his face the shock and bewilderment of what had just happened. He just sat there in a comotose state.
Not in a million years could I come up with any words to describe how that farmer must have felt at that very moment, nor would I ever want to feel what he must have been feeling. An elevation of discouragement came from his voice as he was then interviewed by a reporter.
He explained that everything was gone, all of the family and workers had survived, but they lost around 70 horses. The farm was an attraction for local visitors who would come to ride the horses and ponies and learn about them as well. This was the livelihood for this man and his family.
After all is said and done, I am sure this gentleman will be able to find some gratefulness to the fact that all of his family survived, but that doesn't take away the pain and discouragement.
A few minutes later the same news feed reported on the two grade schools that were in the direct path of this monster storm, both schools were leveled flat while school was still in session. At that moment all I could do was pray.
Again a few minutes later, a school teacher shows up in a barely touched neighborhood near the school with several of the children. All of them walked away from the rubble with just scrapes and bruises. The reporter would read off a list of names of the children that were present. Some of my prayer had been answered.
As of this writing 9 children have been declared dead. I can't even imagine what their parents must be feeling, especially as I watched other parents show up in this neighborhood to pickup their children.
No prayer is ever wasted. No prayer is ever too late. Say a prayer for Moore, Oklahoma.
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