I have had a difficult few months. It’s like I’m walking through a house while a tornado is roaring around me. Maybe I’m able to duck and miss a flying pillow but when I stand back up, a chair hits me in the face. The bathtub was ripped from the ground so I can’t hide there. And when I finally get to a closet, the door is pulled off its hinges.
I cower in the corner and watch the storm destroy my house, the world I’ve known. Everyone else feels it, too. The wind stings their faces and fear fills their hearts.
Maybe the tornado will take me to Oz. But the splintered wooden floor beneath my feet isn’t changing. I don’t see a yellow brick road. A blanket over my head, eyes screwed shut, I whisper “there’s no place like home” until the storm calms down. Continue reading