I laid out clothes on my dresser- jeans, socks, and a pair of tennis shoes. I checked the latest update from the local meteorologist and then set down my phone. I remember trying to reassure myself by thinking, “I’ll fall asleep and then wake up, and the storms will be over.” I crawled under the covers and forced my eyes closed. An hour later, I jumped out of bed, but instead of waking up to the sunrise streaming through our bedroom window, I woke up to our phones sounding the alarm for a tornado warning in the pitch black.

As a twenty-eight-year-old living smack dab in tornado alley, Oklahoma, I had been through plenty of tornado watches and warnings, but I had yet to actually witness a tornado. Still, I’ve never been one to be out and about when severe weather is predicted- I’ve always respected the strength of a storm. We took the general precautions by keeping our phones charged and our tennis shoes close by, but that is about as extensive as our safety plan went. When you live where tornadoes are common, but never actually experience them, you tend to numb yourself to the realities of one. The night of May 25, 2024, changed that for me and my little family.

Six weeks prior to that night, we were moving once again, to another house. In the eight years my husband and I had been married, we had moved five separate times, and we were determined to settle down at this place for longer than the year or two we spent at each house before. We were coming off of years of back-to-back pain and loss, and we were just looking to catch a breath. So, here we were in a small, cozy house tucked into the east side of a hill overlooking cattle pastures and horse tracks, and we were thoroughly enjoying our days sitting out on the porch swing and settling in. School had just gotten out for summer break, and we were so excited to dive into our first summer at this house. We set up a new trampoline for our three boys and bought a ten-foot blow-up pool to go with it. My chickens loved their new land to free range on, and the dogs loved barking at the neighbor’s goats who hopped the fence line daily to come visit us. I was filling up pages of lists in my mind of all the projects and possibilities these two and a half acres held for us, and I was thanking God for his goodness in bringing us here. It was almost uncanny the number of rainbows we saw from our front porch view. It became almost a daily occurrence, and it kept us in awe. I would say, “Boys, look! A rainbow! Do you remember what the rainbow is?” They always said, “It’s God’s promise!” Yes, boys, God’s promise.

The alarm was screaming at us as I hurriedly put my change of clothes on that had been set on the dresser. I laced my tennis shoes while pulling up the radar on my phone. The image I saw on the radar is still fresh on my mind. It took but a moment to realize it was heading for our town, and for my sister’s house. I yelled for Michael to get the boys up because it was heading our way while simultaneously dialing my sister, Monica. Michael started grabbing the boys from their bunks while Monica and I held on to each other through the words we could speak. “It’s so loud, Brentlee. I’m in the closet, but it’s so loud.” I remember her speaking those words as I prayed every prayer of protection and promise my frantic heart and mind could speak over her. By the time she said “Brentlee, it’s getting quiet,” is when Michael and I looked at each other- knowing we both could hear it coming. I don’t remember throwing snacks by the bathtub or even throwing the quilt in there. The boys were so quietly sitting in the tub, just waiting. The transformers blew, and the electricity shut off in a flash. Michael and I looked into each other’s eyes for a brief moment before I hopped into the bathtub with the boys. The monstrous sound grew louder and louder, and Michael threw a crib mattress on top of us and laid on top of it. It happened so fast that nothing could be processed in our minds, but as the tornado was passing over us, I sang out as loud as I could the lyrics to Peace Be Still by Hope Darst. In those few moments of chaos and unknown, God’s words and promises burst through.

It happened so fast, and yet so slow. The sound gradually passed over, by, and away. No one spoke a word, but I could hear the sound of us all taking loud, deep breaths. It was the sound of my sister’s voice on the phone cutting through the silence like a knife. All of us jumped, having no idea that she was still on the speaker phone, sitting alongside us in the bathtub! I guess I never ended our phone call, but instead threw it in the tub when I hopped in. “Welp, I guess I’m going to get off here then,” she said nonchalantly. We almost jumped out of our skin when she said that! And then one of those If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry laughs bubbled out from us. I hung up the phone, then looked at Michael, and the real tears began to flow from both of us. We told the boys how proud we were of them for how they so bravely handled themselves. Then we walked to our large picture window that overlooks miles to the east. What was normally lit up by the horse barns, track, and houses past us was now covered in darkness. I crashed into the couch and looked up, and for the first time in my life, ever questioned, “God, where are you?” We put the boys back into their beds, checked in on neighbors, and took flashlights outside to get a glimpse of what had just transpired. We carefully sidestepped the glass that had shattered on the front porch as we walked to the chicken coop. It was in the direct line of the tornado, and thankfully, it had only slightly moved and was still intact. All of the chickens had made it through just fine, but it was at that moment that we heard the horses crying out in the barns below us that made our hearts ache. Soon, the quiet of the night was filled with the sound of sirens flooding to the houses, racino, and RV park that sits below our hill. We had no idea in that moment what had happened to those who the tornado hit after it passed over us, we could only pray, and pray we did. I called my sweet friend Johnetta, who lived in one of those houses below. She answered, and with a shaky voice said, “We’re alright. We’re going to be okay.” It was almost an anthem that our little town would live out in those next few weeks.

We didn’t sleep that night but waited until the morning light filled the sky instead of the lights from the emergency vehicles. The path of the tornado didn’t make sense at first because of how widespread the damage was. We eventually found out it had been circled with vortexes. What started out as an EF-2 tornado would turn into an EF-3 right before it reached our hill. We quickly put our boots on and got to work. Just like so many, we started helping our neighbors clean up, and it wasn’t long before people I had never met were piling into our yard to help start the clean-up process. That was the easy part. To gather with each other and pick up sticks and debris. It was easier than mulling over the experience of what had happened. The next few weeks, our town and so many volunteers from other cities and states rallied around to help bring order to the chaos. It was honestly such a beautiful thing to watch unfold. My friend Johnetta said that, honestly, she hopes they never go back to how it was before the tornado- when everyone kept to themselves inside the walls of their own homes. Because after the tornado passed, people started piling out of their homes like ants leaving their mounds. They checked on each other, talked, prayed, cried, and fed one another. Whether people knew they were doing it or not, the love of God was being put on full glorious display.

Johnetta and I sat on my porch swing together, sipping coffee one day in the following weeks after the tornado. I remember telling her that I somehow felt stronger from going through the tornado, even though it made me feel the weakest I had ever felt. She agreed and said she felt the same way. We never hope to go through one again, but knowing we went through it together with our friends and neighbors made us feel like we could relate, love, and understand each other in a way we didn’t before. What tore through our town united us in a way that is almost hard to convey, and yet I feel as though everyone who went through it would understand. The good that came from it was a good that only God could bring from what was meant to harm us. There has been pain, heartache, tears, questions, losses, but still there’s been good. Over a year later, and I still drive by houses that are being rebuilt, yards being cleared up, and lives that have forever been changed. I write this as my story, knowing countless others have their own personal stories to tell of that night and the weeks, months, and now the year that have since followed. There are pieces of this story that I still hold in my heart, knowing that every detail isn’t meant to be shared, but last week I saw the first rainbow I’ve seen from my front porch since before the tornado over a year ago. My heart swelled as I quoted from Genesis God’s promise of His faithfulness to us. There’s healing in remembering. I may have asked God where He was that night, but I can never be dissuaded that He was there through it all. His faithful love endures forever, come what may.