Drops in a Tipping Bucket
As the torrential rain persisted that Saturday evening, something wasn’t right. As minutes ticked by and the heavy rain continued, I recognized that there was a deep continuous rumble, like a low thunder, that would not stop. Also, the earthliest smell filled my bedroom, as if a greenhouse just opened its fullness of life. I called the boys back into my room, because the same sound and smell was not present in the living room. We agreed that the river must be flooding. At the same time my friend Mel, who lives next door at the seminary, texted me to say her van had just floated away. 8:52 p.m. Cautiously, the boys went out to check how high the river had risen. They returned minutes later with wild adrenaline in their eyes, exclaiming that they saw the water crash over our back wall and were yelling at all our neighbors and aviation workers, who lived along that back wall, to run for the hanger. The next few hours blur of us running back ...