I woke this past Saturday at 5:30 am, and my blood turned to ice as I turned on the news. The Governor of Kentucky stood in front of a podium, and the electronic banner beneath him read, Massive tornado hits Kentucky. The screen changed to a map of a red line that ran straight up the state’s western side—right to where my parents lived.

Nothing happens to water until it reaches 32 degrees. Until that marker, ice won’t melt and water won’t freeze, but once the temperature hits that degree, things start to happen. Life can be a lot like water. We wait and we wait, and nothing seems to happen.

I’m writing this before the final day of the election. I don’t know if the next president will be determined by the time this blog is posted or f the new president will be announced by the end of the week, the next month, or next year. What I do know is...

We might relish the thrill of the hero and heroine’s gazes holding a tad longer than appropriate, the quickening of pulse as their fingers brush, or the intimacy of their mingling breath as a loose strand of hair is tucked behind an ear. We might sigh with longing at those romantic moments, but my answer is a firm, "no, thank you."

For two weeks, it feels like we’ve been ostriches sticking our heads in the sand. Perhaps it’s time to raise our heads. It’s never too early to strategize about available options and develop a foundation to rebuild, maybe with a new perspective.

While we panic and run out to stock up on toilet paper because we didn’t see this pandemic coming, we can be reassured God did. There are no surprises for Him.

After the age of twenty-one, our bodies begin to die...