weathering our first tornado

"Smells like a tornado."

I looked incredulously at my friend, but she was right. That afternoon, the tornado sirens went off as I was preparing for dinner, so we tuned into the local radio station.

The next hour felt like an eternity. We listened anxiously as tornado after tornado developed around the greater Oklahoma City area. I glanced up nervously at our skylights while I finished chopping lettuce and green onions, realizing that this beautiful blessing made me particularly vulnerable in the kitchen. We went through the house gathering emergency supplies, squeezed into our little laundry room, and shut the door.

Being a relatively new Okie, I felt fear rising in my heart. A tornado had ripped through our neighborhood before—and it could very well happen again.

Rumor has it that over 20 tornadoes developed throughout Oklahoma state that evening. While God chose to protect us and our skylights, other families are picking up debris from their demolished homes. Does that mean God loves us more?

No. This experience reminded me a lot of the days leading up to my husband's layoff. We heard rumblings of it, but we weren't quite sure who it would hit. That time, it was us.

Even though it one of the hardest trials we've faced as a couple, now in retrospect, we thank God for it. God allowed that "tornado" to hit us to help us reevaluate our purpose as individuals and our direction as a family. And we're still praying. Turning in the right direction is only the beginning.

"Right now... I'm good."

I hit a few rough spots yesterday... like when my husband dropped me off for work and when I had to delete his work email from my address book and when my colleague gave me a big hug (I only work once a week, so the last time I saw her was before everything happened).

When people ask me how I'm doing, if I'm not doing well, I usually respond with "OK" before my lip quivers and my eyes well up with tears. But those moments have decreased a bit over the last few days, and the Lord has given us much to be happy about.

...like the fact that we were able to enjoy a breakfast date at Starbucks after we dropped our exchange student off at school this morning, because today is free pastry day! (Thank you, Starbucks!) We even got our drinks for free, because a very kind friend decided to bless us with a gift card.

So instead of responding with "OK," I can smile and answer, "Right now... I'm good."

"do something fun..."

Post-employment advice #1 (from Papa): "Do something fun."

What Papa had in mind when he gave me this bit of advice was that we go out for a meal or take a trip somewhere fun. So Friday afternoon, we packed an overnight bag and drove out to the "sticks" of Oklahoma, where my husband dropped me off at the home of one of his former colleagues (one of the directors in the company), while he took our exchange student to motorcycle safety school.

It wasn't the typical weekend trip, because we ended spending much of it apart from each other. While my husband sat through lectures on horrible bike accidents and practiced doing figure eights in a church parking lot, I got a taste of life with eight kids. We spent hours in the kitchen, talking about their perspective on the week (and how they braced for possible lay-off), swapping stories about our families, making homemade ice cream, playing games, and cutting hair (they were brave to hand me the scissors).

It was therapeutic to live life with someone else, to hear how they survived unemployment in the past, and to recognize that one of life's most precious resources is not money but the people who weather the storms with you, who not only cry with you but help you to trust and to laugh no matter what the circumstance.

And laugh we did-- even after they begged my husband to perform some of his songs for the fifth time. As I watched him play "one last time" with just as much gusto as the first, I couldn't help smiling-- and thanking God for blessing me with a man who knows how to trust... and laugh... and love.

the wall

A unique characteristic of the company my husband worked for was their strong sense of community. It wasn't just a work place. It was a family. That's what made the cuts even more painful.

I know that most people don't work in that kind of environment. Perhaps for most people, what follows the cut is alienation and therefore an intense sense of loneliness. I must confess, however, that even with the tight-knit community at my husband's company, it was just as easy to project the same kind of wall in my heart.

When my husband's supervisor-- and our good friend-- dropped him off at work that fateful day, the last thing I wanted to do was see someone who hadn't been cut. Why my husband? Why not you? Yet I knew in my mind that it wasn't his decision. It wasn't even what the company wanted to do. So when he looked at my swollen eyes and asked, "So...are we still friends?" I blinked back tears, swallowed hard and answered, "Yes, of course."

Yesterday evening, we had several friends over, because our exchange student wanted to cook them a Chinese meal. That group included my husband's former supervisor, his wife and child. When we introduced them to our friends from church who didn't know about the lay-off, I found myself struggling to switch from the usual, "He's my husband's supervisor" to-- to what? My husband came to the rescue with "Actually, we didn't want this to be too awkward, but we worked together-- until yesterday."

Sometimes embracing awkwardness is the best step towards normalcy. Because my husband has an amazing ability to shrug things off, we had our friends over last night, he encouraged me to go watch a movie with another friend this afternoon, and then we spent the evening watching an amazing Round 1 of March Madness.

By engaging deliberately with people who also felt that same awkwardness, but from the other side, I am finding the courage to step out of my natural protective instinct and restore that sense of community we valued before.

crying for two

For the past couple of weeks, we've been hearing rumblings of "budget constraints" and "work force reduction." When my husband came home on Monday with news that the inevitable would take place over the next week, it began to hit me for the first time.

So when I kissed my husband good-bye yesterday morning, I didn't know if he'd come home with a job or not. Even so, he turned before he got in the car, smiled and waved at me optimistically... and then he was gone.

I went about my business trying not to think about what could happen. But when I heard the song I had chosen for his ring tone in the late afternoon, my heart sank.

I answered as cheerfully as I could and asked how he was doing. "OK," he responded before breaking the news to me. It wasn't long before I couldn't hold back the flood of tears anymore.

When we hung up, I braced myself against the desk and cried. Pain. Disappointment. Fear. Shame. Pride. Anger. Helplessness. The worst part was not the lack of job security but the fact that I wasn't there to hold him and comfort him when it happened.

That night, I sat on the bed playing my guitar while my husband answered a couple calls from family and friends. I was fine till they asked how I was holding up. I tried to grin bravely, while tears splashed off my face and onto the guitar.

Seventeen months ago, I made a vow to love this man for richer or poorer, for better or worse. I didn't know then how it might feel or how soon I'd experience it or what it would look like. Today, it means crying for the two of us.