0 1 27-04-2017
  1. November turned into December, and we had no other news other than our paperwork made it to Texas. We were elated, because this meant we were almost there. Any moment we would get the clearance we could head home. And then we found out the paperwork wasn't in Texas. Apparently our agency was "told" the paperwork had been mailed when really North Carolina still had it under review. On December 12, I walked out on to the pier with Jubal, frustrated and scared. We were three days away from him being one month earthside and we had no scale to measure how long this was even going to take. We'd now been in North Carolina for two months. A storm passed through about an hour before we went for our morning walk, and the sun started pushing its way through the clouds. I walked the wooden beams, praying and kissing little lion's head and watching the waves and I heard, "trust me. I'm pushing back the darkness on your behalf." I snapped this picture, assuming it meant something COMPLETELY different, and felt emboldened and encouraged. Later that day, we decided to run into town for some formula and diapers. On our way there, the sun quickly faded into more storm clouds. It started to rain. At a stoplight, I kept hearing a high pitched buzzing in the background and kept looking for the emergency vehicle with sirens. And then I realized it wasn't an ambulance or a police car. It was a tornado. Russ and I quickly decided: stay in the car or drive to Target and take shelter? We were close enough to the store that I felt safer risking the drive than taking shelter at a gas station, so we drove and I planned our escape. I would grab Jubal and run inside, Russ would park the car. I had no time to worry or think or cry or freak out, it was just pure protection. Grab our son. Get inside. Hope the storm passes. We got inside safe, my hands shaking, and I closed my eyes and pressed my face against Jubal's and just whispered a breathless thanks. The storm passed quickly, and we ended up being completely safe. I didn't know it then, but the frantic pace of taking cover and protecting our son through a tornadic storm would quickly become metaphorical.

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