The national weather service doesn’t give tornados human names. We talk of hurricanes and storms with modern names that allow us to personify them, and point somewhere specific when we want to remember and reflect. Tornadoes don’t get names. There’s little tracking, rarely any warning and certainly no time to discuss them on television before we face their wrath. Joplin Missouri is now a famous place because of the unnamed and not-at-all-human EF5 tornado that ripped through the quiet town at 5:41 pm on May 22, 2011.
An alien invasion coming forth violently from the sky. True Sci-Fi. Attacking and ravaging without sense, without logic, in a matter of seconds carving a deep groove through innocent lives – like ours – leaving them permanently changed.
Last week our family traveled to Joplin to cheer on our Fabulous College Junior Son, whose Multnomah University basketball team was competing in the ACCA National Championship there. I’m embarrassed to say how lightly I spoke about the fact that we were driving to the “city of the tornado.” I’m a bit ashamed that this is the first time I’ve been here. Why didn’t we come to help? What could possibly have been more important?
The stunning evidence of what this city has lived through consumed us as we drove back and forth from our hotel to the tournament games at Ozark Christian College. We were struck with a sense of realization of the long struggle, nearly two years later. The path of the twister is alive, throbbing like an open wound. Remnants of trees. Vacant space like scars, but with clear healing and sprouting growth.
This giant groove filled with stories of the dramatic memories of the event, of the discovery of immeasurable tragic loss, and miracles only explained by a faith in God’s mercy. The people we met in Joplin conveyed an understanding of purpose. Though nobody could utter a thought of “good” in the EF5, they could see the new growth in their community as healthy and even beautiful. New growth amidst memories that still carry audible crashing thunder as they surface. I met a beautiful young woman named Alex whose very voice conveyed a deeper understanding of being blessed, and how to live a life that reflects what gratitude truly means. More on Alex’s story later.
For now I want to remain changed by living amidst Joplin’s collective bravery and hope from each new sunrise. I hope I can absorb even a part of what they’ve learned.
Tornados might not get people names, but the people of Joplin know the name of their city now gives embodiment to the idea of a truly courageous community.
Here is a link from a Boston Globe article marking last year’s anniversary.
Here’s a link to their own anniversary video.