Storm

August 5, 1979, I was eleven years old, second oldest of the seven children my parents had at the time, including my five-month-old baby sister. We all traveled in a big brown station wagon, with faux-wood siding, from our home in Bettendorf, Iowa to a coliseum in Madison, Wisconsin for a church area conference. That morning, we sat in the auditorium toward the top where thunder roared, rattled the building, frightened us, and made it challenging to hear the talks.

On our way home after all the meetings, the storm continued to rage. Wild wind pushed the station wagon sideways. Hard rain made it difficult to see out the windshield. Then dime-sized hail came crashing down and made it nearly impossible to continue. Our parents told us all to be quiet so my dad could concentrate on his driving.

We were also really low on gas. It was the Sabbath, so my parents likely wanted to keep the day holy and avoid buying more than necessary.

We weren’t quite driving down “tornado alley," but we were close enough that the risk of tornadoes was very high. For our safety, and probably because he couldn’t see, my dad slowed down and drove the station wagon off the highway. He stopped on a slope in a grassy ditch and turned off the car to wait out the storm.

I remember feeling very afraid. I sat by a window and watched the rain pelting down in rivulets next to me. I’m sure I tensed with every lightning strike and thunder roar. I imagine the baby cried and needed feeding. I remember the tension in the car and the worried looks on my parents’ faces.

I also remember we said a family prayer.

I don’t remember if it was my dad or my mom who said the prayer; I don’t remember what they said, but I do remember that after the prayer I felt calm. I knew we’d be okay.

We found out later that night, just five minutes ahead of where we stopped in the ditch, a tornado crossed the highway. If we’d kept going, we would have surely been caught up in its path.

I don’t know how long we waited, but once the storm slowed, we got back on the highway. We didn’t run out of gas. We made it home.

It’s been storming here since last night, so it’s a good time to post this story. I remember some details of the event; some I wrote in a journal entry a day later.