Subzero temperatures this weekend did not deter my family from venturing into a great new adventure involving steep inclines, water and screaming.
After climbing up four flights of stairs and attempting to ignore the warning signs prohibiting children under 48" (hey, I'm not THAT much taller) and pregnant women (I was pregnant at one time, three years ago...), I clamped my hands onto the rubber handles on the sides of the inner tube. Images of falling four stories flashed through my head (you could die from that kind of fall, you know).
I remember my first experience with a tornado. I didn't grow up in tornado country, so I was clueless in 2000 when tornadoes hit Ft. Worth, a few miles from my little apartment. I was home alone because my husband was at work and there were no basements in our little complex. I couldn't decide if it was safer to just hide in the bathtub or make a run for the seminary where I could find a basement. In the end, my fears amounted to nothing. Though Ft. Worth took quite a beating (the tornado demolished high rise business buildings, leaving desks and computers hanging out the exposed sides over a multi-story drop), I was safe and sound far away from the destruction.
Now, I don't know a lot about tornadoes, but I do know that it's not a good idea to be near them, much less IN them. And here I was, teetering on the edge of a tornado.
After I shot down the near vertical drop, screaming my head off as I fell, I swirled about back and forth in the center of the tornado. And I survived. Amazing.
Soon after, the kids with no fear shot down slide after slide (not the tornado), shaming their mother. On day two at the indoor re-creation of summer (who needs to go to Florida? We create our own little Floridas right here in between the drifts of snow) my husband forced me to go on the tornado again.
Now come on. I went the first time and screamed so loud my kids could hear it at the bottom of the tube. There was no way I would voluntarily do that again. So, it wasn't exactly voluntary. He couldn't go alone (what? is there safety in numbers or something?). So, with more trepidation than I had the first time, I plunged to the depths hollering, "God, help me" over and over again, as if I really needed His help.
I'm pretty sure He was laughing at me. Because it was fun, after all. Even for a big chicken like me!
P.S. What in the world is going on with my blog? Pray for me as I'm about to go crazy trying to figure out why my sidebar is on the bottom and my template is wacked.