The Scandalous Opinions of a Fearless Blue Dot

What was left of a home in Carter's Gin subdivision in Madison County, Alabama, after a direct hit from an EF-5 tornado on April 27th, 2011; sign says, "God saved 6 here behind these walls"

I want everyone to know our story. This is not my home. None of the homes pictured in this post are mine, nor do they belong to any of my personal family. I claim this story as "our" story because this is my turf. I, a resident of Madison County, City of Madison, was spared this terrible day. My family was saved, also, along with our homes and properties. The city of Madison, which is a stone's throw from the communities of Monrovia, Harvest, and Toney was spared. Monrovia, where I grew up, Harvest, and Toney were not. Our neighbor county, Limestone, was not. This day was one of the most frightening days I can remember in my whole life, and it has taken me several months to digest it and determine the direction in which to take our story.

First, I should say that this was not unexpected in any way. The tornadoes were imminent, and it had been widely publicized for over a week. I don't need to recount the statistics - they've been broadcast far and wide since April. The whole world knows what happened in Alabama that day, and people from all over the whole world came to our aid and stood at our side in the aftermath.

Many have shared their stories so far - some much more intense than mine. I did spend hours underground, with my daughter, my puppy, my husband and in-laws. We listened to the sirens, the horrific storm, the debris smashing overhead. Two miles away, my parents stayed in contact with me while they took shelter in their home, also. I know I would have been less frightened if my parents had been in the same place with me, but there came a point, early in the afternoon, when it was no longer safe to be on the road, even for a minute. We were all where we were going to have to stay, and God would take it from there.

At 2:30 AM on April 27th, I checked the news report that would set my stage for the rest of the day. It was coming, and it was going to be bad. It was going to be an all-day event (I never understood calling these sorts of things "events;" anytime I think "event," I'm thinking something involving balloons, cake, and punch - which tornado "events" never seem to include). I determined then and there that my daughter, her favorite stuffed animal, her Nintendo DS, and a cooler full of snacks, were all coming to work with me; sending her to school was out of the question for the day, even if schools weren't closed. Electing not to go to bed that night, I went around my home, placing electronics, cameras, keepsakes, and mine and my daughter's collection of things from around the world (from my parents and brother from their travels) into closets. I arranged for Lexie (the puppy) to stay with Phillip's sister for the day, at his parents' home (which is where the underground shelter is located). Phillip arrived at my home very early that morning, before the sun would have come up, and put our large bean bag chair and several pillows and blankets in the bathroom. I struggled with the internet connection to get an update on the weather for several minutes, when the tornado sirens sounded for the first time in Madison County that day. Phillip carried my still-sleeping Kristin into the bathroom, I carried Lexie, and they both curled back up and went back to sleep. As I watched the weather on my laptop, the first internal panic struck as I realized a tornado was already on the ground and headed for the small community of Holly Pond, where our friend lives. We would later learn that our friend's barns were destroyed in that storm, but that he and his family had left their mobile home and were safe at their parents' home.

The city of Madison and Madison County determined (for some unknown reason, defying all possible logic) that it would be safe, you know, between tornadoes, to open the schools and run the buses and require the teachers to report to work. My daughter and I drove to the high school where I worked, tornado sirens blaring all the way there. My mother, who works in the County schools, also headed out to work, just ahead of a tornado that crossed her path minutes later. Naturally, no one was going to be doing any teaching this day, and most of the morning was spent in the hallways and safe rooms, hiding from the tornadoes flying overhead but mercifully not touching down. As several teachers and I watched the outside weather live from an online video feed from the news station, we saw a tornado hovering just over our City Hall, which is on the same short road as the high school we were all huddled in. When I called my father, minutes later, he said he and his coworkers were standing outside watching it go over, and he said it looked like it went right over the high school. If the swirling trees in the high school courtyard were any accurate indication, I'd say that was about right. As this storm moved away, I determined I'd had enough of the above-ground storm experience for the day. Lexie, I was sure, was terrified, and I couldn't reach Phillip's sister to see if they were okay. So, I packed up Kristin and our things and made a break for it.

Once we reached Phillip's parents' house, that storm was all but gone. The meteorologists were clear, though, that everyone should use the lull in the weather to take cover and brace for the afternoon, which promised to be far worse than what we'd already seen. The first tornadoes had touched down in the county, and had already done damage enough. Those whose homes had been compromised during the first wave, had no choice but to pick up what they could, cover what they couldn't pick up, and take shelter elsewhere. The schools in the city had dismissed the students and teachers, but the county schools could not. The weather was still raging just across the highway, and roads were already closed due to downed trees and power lines. I had not been able to reach my mother on the phone since we were all driving to school that morning, and for Kristin's sake, was trying not to appear as worried as I actually was.

During our short break from the storms, we watched news reports of other tornadoes wreaking havoc across our state. The Cullman wedge tornado looked like a monster, with arms flailing. Other, smaller areas being hit did not have video coverage yet, as it was too dangerous to be out and about. The Madison County sirens sounded several times, at which we took off to the storm shelter under the house each time. One wave was particularly frightening, with large debris hitting the garage doors. Kristin whispered, "what was that" to every hit, to which I could only reply, "debris." She had learned this word earlier in the day, when the meteorologists talked about the "debris cloud" picked up on the Doppler radar. She learned that "debris" could be anything from tree limbs to pieces of homes to vehicles, and more. This broad description proved to be a mistake, however, because her poor little brain was envisioning houses and cars hitting the garage doors that enclosed our underground shelter. We did our best to explain that, since the doors were still there, it was probably just large tree limbs that she was hearing. She hugged her stuffed puppy, Joey, tighter, but bravely refused to cry.

At around 4:15 PM, we began to hear the meteorologists gearing up for what was to be the strongest tornado of the day. It was already a monster on the ground through Hackleburg, Alabama, destroying 75% of the city there before tearing through several other cities, and it set course directly for us. My mom had left school just before this, and during her 30-minute drive from the county back home to the city, I was frantic. She had called to tell me that trees and power lines were keeping her from taking the quickest route home, and I wasn't going to be able to think straight until she arrived. My dad was home already, and shortly after we took cover in the shelter again, my mom sent a text saying she was safely home. Immediately after this, the storm hit. The meteorologists weren't overreacting, either. This was the big one. Phillip stood at the opening of the garage for a bit, watching the constant lighting, limbs being torn from trees by the extreme winds, and the sky becoming black as night. It was upon us. When the meteorologist on the radio explained the magnitude of the approaching tornado, and the lights above our heads flickered and went out, Phillip's dad decided it was time for him to get in the shelter and close the doors. Lexie shivered in fright on my lap, and Kristin held tightly to my arm, asking if Grandmommy and Granddaddy would be okay above ground. I told her that God had taken care of Mama, Uncle Jon, Grandmommy, and Granddaddy during many, many storms and tornadoes in Madison County, and that He would take care of them today, too. As scared as I was, I truly believed that.

There came a point where something hit the garage door so loudly that we didn't know if the doors would still be there when the storm blew over. The radio was reporting, though, that the monstrous tornado, whose base grew to a mile and a quarter wide, would pass just barely (and I do mean barely) north of us. We waited, terrified, as the radio reports began to come in - East Limestone School hit, at least one dead; Anderson Hills subdivision demolished; Piggly Wiggly supermarket flattened; Carter's Gin subdivision destroyed. I know these areas well. They are in the Monrovia/Harvest community, and this is where I grew up. In 1995, Anderson Hills had taken a direct hit from a tornado, and I can recall that day, standing on the porch of my home in Monrovia, watching the clouds swirl. "How many people died," Kristin asked after each incoming report. There was no way to know (as the death toll was concluded weeks later, we learned that this tornado alone killed 80 people in Alabama; 9 of those were in Madison County). As we waited for an all-clear signal, we heard the first reports of the Tuscaloosa tornado, and the horrific damage being caused there. As die-hard Crimson Tide girls, Kristin and I held our breath to hear what the extent of the damage would be. The awful news of how many were killed there, including a young lady from Madison, would not come until later.

We decided finally that it was safe to come out of the shelter and run inside the house, lightning still striking and rain pouring. The power was still out, and the radio reported that the Browns Ferry power plant had been hit. This meant that all of North Alabama would be without power, and as it turned out, that would last for eight days. Suddenly, I heard a frantic, "NO!" as Kristin heard the report that the deadly Tuscaloosa tornado was on the ground, roaring into Birmingham. We had moved to Madison the summer before, after living in Birmingham for almost four years. Many of our close friends, our Palisades Church of Christ family, and Kristin's best friend, all live in Birmingham, and our home community on the south side, Homewood, is very dear to us. There was little consolation for Kristin until we learned that the tornado had moved across the lesser-populated north side of the city.

Later that night, after checking on family and friends, Phillip and I drove through the pitch-black city to inspect my home and look for damages. We didn't realize we'd passed the huge Wal-Mart Supercenter until we crossed the railroad tracks on the other side of it - nothing was visible in the total darkness. Thankfully, my home was not damaged, with the exception of some pulled-up shingles, a couple of shutters ripped off, and some trees snapped. My parents' home was not damaged, either, and Phillip's parents' home was also safe. The worst we had to worry about was cleaning up our yards and hauling limbs to the street.

When the sun came up the next morning, the nightmare wasn't over. The city of Madison had moderate damage to homes by falling trees and limbs, but less than five miles from where we took shelter, the EF-5, along with several other tornadoes, had done unthinkable damage. We spent the first day of no power cleaning up yards, seeing about family, and hashing out action plans to brave our new temporary primitive lifestyle. The hunt was on for batteries, flashlights, generators, and grills. My parents went up to their mountain cabin to get the generator and the hot water heater. Phillip's parents went driving around North Alabama to find batteries (no one had any, of course), and we scavenged my apartment for electronics that could sacrifice their batteries to power flashlights and mechanical candles. It was an adventure for Kristin, who got to "live like Kirstin in the American Girl books." But, for our friends and neighbors across the highway, the second horror was just beginning.

Families who had left their splintered homes for the night to stay with friends and family, came home to an officially-declared state of disaster. Many families had faced the tornadoes head-on, having their homes ripped from around them, miraculously sparing their lives. While all were just thankful that their families were safe, the reality of their material loss was a crippling blow. It was from this massive destruction, however, that the most beautiful stories emerged.

My parents, Phillip, and I, signed up to help families go through what was left of their homes, cut trees out of houses, and support in any way those hardest hit. Our friends from church lost their Anderson Hills home, and my parents began with them. Phillip and I intended to find the same family and help there, but God had another purpose for us. I talked to a shell-shocked man whose home was in the middle of the street in the Anderson Hills subdivision. He and his wife covered one of his children (their other child was at a friend's home, safe) in their bathtub as the EF-5 tornado sucked off the roof, tore the walls from around them, pulled up the toilet and sink beside them, and ripped their house from its foundation. He said he kept thinking they were going to suffocate their child, trying to hold on and protect each other. When the tornado let go of his home and moved on, the family crawled out, unharmed, from the splinters of their house to find their home in the middle of the road, not a single wall left standing.

The Reed family requested no more help for a while; it was a debilitating sock in the gut, understandably, and they needed time to regroup and process quietly. So, Phillip and I moved on, asking at what was left of each home we came to, if they could use our help. Each time, God's Hand moved us along, until we came to the Brooks family home. We stopped there, offered our help, the family accepted, and then they gathered us and those who were already there helping, into a circle for prayer. This beautiful family prayed for blessings - but for us! They asked the Lord to bless the families of those who came to help them salvage their belongings and memories, and for our safety as we worked in the very dangerous ruins of their home. We worked alongside the Brooks family for three days, recovering family heirlooms, priceless possessions, wedding memories, precious photos, and so much more. Mr. Brooks' brother told us that Mrs. Brooks and her son were in their home, under the concrete steps of their garage, when the tornado hit. Mrs. Brooks had removed her wedding rings and placed them in a dish in her bathroom when she arrived home from work that day, just as she always did. When the tornado passed and she determined that her son was unharmed, she climbed through the rubble up to where her bedroom used to be, and into what remained of her bathroom, sure that her rings would never be found. The entire roof of the home was carried off by the tornado, and insulation and drywall covered the bathroom like a blanket. The dish where she'd placed her rings was nowhere to be found, but laying on the insulation on the floor of the bathroom, were both of her wedding rings!

We were blessed to help recover many of the Brooks' possessions, including an impressive collection of campaign memorabilia from President Obama's run for office and inauguration. Phillip helped Mr. Brooks locate his signed, encased Michael Jordan cards (the casings were worth thousands that day, because, although they had been whipped against bricks and buried underneath soggy insulation for three days, the valuable cards themselves were not damaged at all). I, and another woman helping at the Brooks home, located their adult son's first birthday video, cover destroyed, but the video tape was fine. After removing a fallen wall of bricks in their bedroom, I found a framed handwritten poem from Mr. Brooks to Mrs. Brooks on their wedding day. It was upside down, and the frame edges had kept the poem itself away from the wet insulation that it landed on, so that the poem wasn't even smudged. Another possession of theirs stands out the most to me, though, that I was blessed to be able to find for them. In Mr. and Mrs. Brooks' bedroom, under the piece of brick wall, was a beautifully-framed old photograph of a baby in a white dress. Being old, and being in a very important-looking frame, and being entirely undamaged, I took it directly to Mrs. Brooks' aunt, assuming it might be important that they know it had been found. Mrs. Brooks' aunt, a large, affectionate, grandma-type woman, threw her hands to her face, began to cry, and hugged me up tightly like I was one of her grandbabies. "This is my mother, honey! This is the only baby picture we've got! Thank you for this. Thank you so much."

In the three days of exhausting work, climbing over fallen ceilings, crawling through a caved-in kitchen, chopping furniture out of walls and extracting lumber and debris, I found that the family I hoped to be a blessing to by offering my help and compassion, was every bit as much a blessing to me. One of the family members cooked ribs and barbeque and brought a plate out to each of us working at their home. The family I prayed for every night because they'd lost so much, prayed over us. They hugged us a lot, walked us through their destroyed home with their arms around our shoulders, laughed and cried with us, and treated us like family. The Brooks family is an inspiration through their resilience, graciousness, and hospitality, and I will never forget them.

During the blackout, God gave us a number of other blessings out of tragedy. While staying at Phillip's parents' house, we roasted marshmallows and made s'mores over the bonfire burning up the massive pile of tree limbs that had littered the yard. We had a fun family cookout with some of our family from Monrovia, because all the meat in the freezers would spoil without electricity to power the freezers. At my parents' house, we learned that the solar powered sidewalk luminaries make great nightlights, and they stay lit all night long with zero need for batteries! Perhaps the most awesome side-effect of the blackout, however, was this: When there's no artificial light for hundreds of miles all around, the night sky is an incredible sight. At my parents' house, where we stayed for most of the blackout (Daddy had a generator, and had run a hose hooked to the water heater outside, into the bathroom and over the shower wall for hot showers through a garden hose...YAY, Daddy!), we stood on the sidewalk one night looking up, captivated by the amazing sky with millions of stars that we never get to see when the city and street lights are working.

Even the idiotic declaration on the morning of the 27th, that students and teachers were expected to travel to school during tornado warnings, that classes would be held, and buses would run as usual, proved to be God's mighty, saving Hand at work. The county schools could not dismiss because of the constant barrage of storms, and held students, teachers, bus drivers, and parents that arrived to pick up their children, at the school buildings until as late as 8:00 PM, after the final tornadoes had torn through. One day, during the blackout, while I was entertaining myself with things that don't require electricity, it dawned on me - the kids that were "unreasonably" expected to be at school that day, are the kids who live in Anderson Hills, Carter's Gin, and a large number are kids who live in trailer park homes throughout Monrovia, Harvest, and Toney. Had it not been for the buses running and the schools holding classes, it's likely that many, many children, and their parents who would have had to be home with their children, in Madison County would have lost their lives in the storms that day.

I was driving to work at Madison Cross Roads Elementary School in Toney, Alabama, a couple of weeks ago, and listening to the Harding University Chorale sing the beautiful, stirring song, "Master, the Tempest Is Raging," written by Mary A. Baker (1874). As the third verse (see words below) of the song was playing, I realized I was driving right by the Anderson Hills subdivision, with skeletons of wind-gutted houses still looming, the large brick fence still missing, and pieces of splintered homes still scattered across yards where families once lived and played. Piles of ruined possessions - many, no doubt, precious, but destroyed - still sit alongside empty slabs where husbands and wives built families and memories, where babies took first steps, where families gathered each year for Christmas mornings around the tree, and squealing grandchildren once raced up the front steps and into their grandparents' arms. I thought about the awful devastation, and remembered that frightful, life-changing day, but the words of the last verse brought tears to my eyes and shifted my thoughts to the peace God offered us all through the countless blessings He presented in the days and weeks after the storms. There's never been, and there will never be a storm greater than God's ability to calm it.

Master, the Tempest Is Raging
Words by Mary A. Baker, 1874
Music by Horatio R. Palmer, 1874

Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
Carest Thou not that we perish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threatening
A grave in the angry deep?

[Chorus]
The winds and the waves shall obey Thy will,
Peace, be still!
Whether the wrath of the storm tossed sea,
Or demons or men, or whatever it be
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean, and earth, and skies;
They all shall sweetly obey Thy will,
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
They all shall sweetly obey Thy will,
Peace, peace, be still!

Master, with anguish of spirit
I bow in my grief today;
The depths of my sad heart are troubled
Oh, waken and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of anguish
Sweep o’er my sinking soul;
And I perish! I perish! dear Master
Oh, hasten, and take control.

Master, the terror is over,
The elements sweetly rest;
Earth’s sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
And heaven’s within my breast;
Linger, O blessèd Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more;
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor,
And rest on the blissful shore.