We were in a tornado the other night. Well, it flew over us, evidently, while we were traveling along I-80 in Nebraska. We had been driving six hours in hard wind and a sometimes-blinding sand storm. I was in no mood for disaster weather. In fact, I was aching for the bed waiting just five  miles down the road when the hail hit.

The tornado sirens were blaring when we arrived at our hotel, and the night manager was dashing around the lobby like Beaker from the Muppets. She pointed us toward the “safe room” down the hall. It turned out to be a room without any windows. But it had an exterior wall, so we didn’t feel all that safe.

For about twenty minutes, we hunkered down with parents rocking sleepy children, grandmothers clutching flimsy night clothes, and construction workers checking cyber weather. Finally, the manager came in and announced, “The big funnel cloud has gone over us. Now we just have to watch the smaller storm cell coming behind it.”

My wise husband leaned over and said, “Come on. We’re outta here.”

“What?!”

“We’re leaving. This place is going to be chaos all night, and nobody is going to get any rest even after the weather clears. We’re going on down the road an hour or two.”

He was so right. We drove out of the storm and eventually found a peaceful room and had a good sleep.

It was easy to trust Wendell in that moment, because he and I have gone through a lot of life-storms together. Several times I thought the building might collapse around us. But over and over, we’ve grabbed one another by the hand, ducked the rain, and just gone on down the road a ways.

We’ve found the Peaceful Place every, single time.