So, how's the weather? Yes, when we run out of things to say, we always have the weather to discuss. My gosh, it's throwing it down. In the last 24 hours, our own little town received three inches of rain, and the worst of the storm is still to arrive. We lost power for about an hour yesterday, which didn't have any impact on our lives except that the three kids all played together. Together!
The weather pretty boy on the morning news was talking about how this storm is reminiscent of the ones in '82 and '95. People who have lived in the area a long time know what that means. For me, it carries me back to the El Nino of the winter of '95-'96. [I am so sounding like an old man.]
All around me, the rain fell, the wind blew. And inside me, the turmoil was as bad. I've written about the circumstances of the coming together of me and Pete. Here's one from awhile ago. I can't speak to what El Nino did outside of my little area, but its damage around here was pretty bad. And all the while, I was ripped apart inside. On the upside, I ended up losing quite a bit of weight, eating myself up inside.
I was due up in Tahoe to stay for the weekend, having returned to the Bay Area for a few days of work following Christmas. I dreaded going there. But I was going there. A notorious workaholic, I even left work early because the weather was nasty. Pulling out of the parking lot, I came to the first traffic signal, waiting for the green. It turned green, I pulled into the intersection, and a red-light-running, speeding stupid mofo in a pickup truck nailed me. Minor scrapes physically. An epiphany emotionally.
I didn't go to Tahoe. I had to deal with the police, with the car, with the emergency room, and with a dog, coincidentally named Tahoe, who was rather traumatized by the whole ordeal as he had been with me.
I was such an emotional wreck before the accident. I had kept to myself my thoughts of wanting to be dead rather than do what I had to do. I couldn't imagine hurting Gerry, the man I had been with for a decade, so I pondered the hurting of myself. They were fleeting thoughts, to be sure, but suicidal ones all the same.
Then God stepped in, sending me a little brush with death. "I get it, Dude. I don't really want to die." It's been 12 years. In those 12 years, I've done so much that will affect the future beyond my own little life. I will live on because of those 12 years. Those three children of ours will make it so.
I believe that God typically speaks quite softly. It's hard to hear what He's saying. Sometimes, though, He speaks loud and clear.