Calm

The air is stifling. Hot, muggy. Like a wet woolen sweater that gets stuck when you try to pull it over your head. Stepping outside makes my sandals condensate and my ribs ache from breathing in.

It’s calm. The warm breeze is riffling through the leaves, dry and whispering secrets that they won’t tell me. It’s all a trick, a false serenity to lull us before the storm.

And the storm is coming. I feel it, like I’m at the top of a roller coaster, peeking down in that split second before chaos happens. That second where you think, "I changed my mind--!" The second right before the drop.

I’m waiting for the drop, trying not to fear. Trying not to freak out for my kids’ sake, who are watching me. Trying to ignore that there’s a mandatory evacuation for my city. Trying to stay calm, to breathe it in and not out, to hold onto it.

“...I know Whom I have believed, and am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him...”

I’ve entrusted Him my children.

I've entrusted Him my family.

I’ve entrusted Him my home.

I’ve entrusted Him my fears.

And in return, He gives me calm, before the storm.