As the storm comes: Abraham’s son, Jacob’s father, Isaac,
As the wind lifts, and the air hangs heavy,
Announcing its coming while it is still far away.
Father God, I won’t ask you to spare us from the storm.
That storm’s got to hit somewhere, and I won’t wish destruction on someone else.
I will ask that you calm the winds, as you did in Galilee so long ago,
But I know you may choose not to.
And in that case, I merely pray for your mercy:
May we be prepared,
May those in the most danger choose to evacuate,
May they find means, even if they don’t own cars,
May the shelters stand,
May the generator-fueled refrigerators keep the insulin cold,
That no life would be lost.
And in the aftermath,
As the sun shines across broken cities,
May our hands be extended
Not grasping as looters or closed as enemies
But open, as neighbors.