I can’t tear myself away from the Weather Channel.

Away from the photos and videos of devastation and heartbreak.

I can’t breathe for the weight on my chest and the ache in my heart.

And I’m stunned by the power.


Where the wind came sweeping down the plain.

Fast and furious.

The massive twister turned and churned and carved up the landscape in a swath at least a mile (some say two miles) wide and at least twenty miles long.

It tore down the power.

It pulverized ten-inch cinder block walls, stacked up cars like matchboxes, and made TinkerToys of buildings. It spun debris like snow in a globe. Someone said it hurled horses through the air.

It blew lives apart in a heartbeat, over a span of forty minutes.

It took aim at two schools and shattered them, shattered families as it stole their children.

Children sent to school with hugs and kisses and have-a-good-day and cookies waiting warm from the oven that nobody will eat.

Some drowned in the basement, the very place they’d gone for protection.

Some lived because a teacher wrapped herself around them.

God, I can’t breathe.

Our house is gone,” one woman in Moore told a reporter with KWTV-9, crying and clutching her two children’s hands. “Everything but where we were is gone.”

The woman said she and her children hid in their bathtub with a mattress over them. Had they been anywhere else in the house, they would have been killed, she said.

The death toll mounts, and the storms mount on.

And some speak of blessings. Because they live, and it’s just stuff.

But we don’t understand, and hearts bleed, and God we can’t breathe.

Yet we know this…

That though Oklahoma lies in pieces, even in the pieces is His peace.

And with the pieces He can weave a beautiful whole.

I’m stunned by His power to do the impossible.

But right now, all I see is a hole. All I see is one. huge. hole. A hollow of what once was. And I stand in the rubble with you, Oklahoma. And I weep with you and wrap you in my heart. All I know to do is pray for you.

“Everything but where we were is gone.”

And everything but where we are can go, and still we’re safe under the mattress of His care.

I know this.

But right now, God, I can’t breathe.

in which i can’t breathe

by Sandra Heska King time to read: 2 min