<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Things We Can’t See<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n The wind howls from the south and rattles the windows. I watch the storm and I revel in its power, surrender to its majesty, and admire its beauty and strength; I sit mesmerized by the window watching its darkness cover the sky and, for a swirling moment make the mighty sun disappear.<\/span><\/p>\n Whenever I witness the power of nature I am often stunned and humbled. And I am reminded that we don’t know the answers to the simplest things. Why are we here?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n No one knows where the wind comes from or to where it goes. It blows where it will when it will, and we are powerless to stop it. We cannot see the wind, but we can its effects. We see the trees bending, branches breaking; we can see the wind push huge cottony clouds across a cerulean-blue sky.<\/span><\/p>\n The wind shakes the house. I watch as shingles from a neighbor’s house are torn from the roof and blown like paper down the street. I watch the street turn from a peaceful lane into a whirlwind of wet and swirling debris.<\/span><\/p>\n I see a pizza box blowing by, and as I watch it, I imagine a family, gathered around a television, eating pizza, and watching a movie. Mom and dad were too busy or too tired to make dinner? Or was this pizza night for the family? Or perhaps it once belonged to lovers, both sublime and ridiculous, embracing in between the pepperoni-laden bites. <\/span><\/p>\n Or maybe it belonged to a lonely man or woman who, having no one to prepare a meal for, decided rather than going out for dinner, they’d stay home and curl up on the couch with a good movie – and a pizza. And then maybe it’s just a pizza box.<\/span><\/p>\n There are papers and cardboard and plastic bags swirling down the street, as they are pushed and prodded by an angry, frenetic wind. <\/span><\/p>\n As I watch I notice another squall-line approach. I think there must be something wrong with me to want to see such things. But I can’t resist. I watch the bleak black line of storm clouds approach intensely listening for the tell-tale sound of freight trains in the clouds – waiting for furious funnels to drop down from those dark clouds and rip the landscape with their spinning fingers of destruction. <\/span><\/p>\n A black cloud approaching – this one seems much darker and ominous than the last. Perhaps this line will spawn the tornado I’ve always wanted to see. The fury of a dark, spinning column of fear, so powerful it can suck the heart and soul from an entire town. <\/span><\/p>\n Why do I want to see a tornado? There must be something wrong with me.<\/span><\/p>\n I hear the rain pounding on the windows. The wind is screaming. Above its shrieks, I hear unknown things falling and pounding against the side of the house. But I hear no freight trains and I see no funnels. I see nothing save bitter torrents of rain being blown horizontal by a wild and awful wind; the wind I cannot see. There are no twisting, turning towers of death coming toward me… no freight-train soundtrack to awful destruction on this day. There is nothing outside I can see save the ripping rain, bending, praying trees, and a dark, foreboding sky.<\/span><\/p>\n This too shall pass.<\/span><\/p>\n The line of storms passes quickly. I look westward and see no more great gray lines of storms coming. I look at the street and it is now a shallow river. Water is gushing down the edges of it, carrying debris torn free by the wind. <\/span><\/p>\n The street is washed clean and now gleams in the strange, gray-orange afternoon light.<\/span><\/p>\n The wind ebbs and flows, but it is still fierce and undulates across a bent and genuflecting landscape. I can’t see the wind, but I can feel its power. As I look out my window, I think about the many things I cannot see, but which I can feel. <\/span><\/p>\n Love comes to mind. Has anyone ever seen love? Like the wind, we cannot see love, we can only see its effects. A child and his mother; a father and his daughter, and a kite dancing in a mild, March breeze. You can’t see love but can its effects. You can see all the people it touches. And you can see the people it does not. <\/span><\/p>\n The wind affects everyone, and so does love.<\/span><\/p>\n There are different kinds of wind, and there are different kinds of love. The wind can be many things. There are the first warm breezes of spring – the winds of renewal. These winds lift the wings of love. <\/span><\/p>\n There are the winds that lift a little girl’s kite skyward and make it dance. There are the harsh bitter winds of winter howling like a horribly wounded animal on dark, foreboding, frozen nights. <\/span><\/p>\n There are the welcome cooling breezes of summer which bring relief from the oppressive heat. And there are the stirring winds of autumn, the painter of the trees, helping them to clean up and prepare for a long winter’s nap.<\/span><\/p>\n We don’t know where the wind comes from, and we don’t know where it goes. We don’t know where love comes from and we can never know its final destination. We can’t see love, and we can’t see the wind. But we can feel the effects of them both.<\/span><\/p>\n There are a lot of things we can’t see, but we can feel. We can’t see love and we can’t see the wind. We can’t see the germs that cause disease, but we can see their effects in the sick and the dying.<\/span><\/p>\n We can’t see the pain in another’s heart. We can’t see faith. We can’t see hope. We can’t see a lot of things, but we know they exist because we can see and measure their effects. <\/span><\/p>\n Just because we cannot see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Sometimes the things we can’t see are the most powerful things of all.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Things We Can’t See The wind howls from the south and rattles the windows. I watch the storm and I revel in its power, surrender to its majesty, and admire its beauty and strength; I sit mesmerized by the window watching its darkness cover the sky and, for a swirling moment make the mighty sun\u2026 Read More »<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13582,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[228],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19959"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19959"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19959\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19960,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19959\/revisions\/19960"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13582"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19959"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19959"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19959"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}