When driving home from our trip, we decided to make a side excursion to find a Barnes and Noble to get a gift certificate for our cat-sitter. This led to a series of clues that finally led us to a mall. As we were leaving, Jason asked if I had overheard the conversation at the coffee counter. A girl had mentioned that the mall seemed deserted, probably because of all the tornado warnings out. The other lady had responded, “Yeah. But they're all canceled now.” That was our second clue, the first being the storm chaser that had passed us on I-80.

Leaving the area we tuned into a station for more information. This was helpful, because about a half hour later we had the opportunity to practice the terminology we learned in the storm spotters training we took earlier this spring.

As we watched the storm develop rapidly around us, we were able to recognize several classic parts, and when I thought I spotted some rotation, I didn't stick around to find out. I hit the accelerator and hurried from there, knowing we were in the location the trainer had told us not to be in these storms.

Scurrying away from there at slightly above the speed limit, we hit heavy rain - the front of the storm. It was then that I kept hearing peacefully inside, in response to my prayers, to slow down. Confused, I wondered why, since we were trying to outrun what was behind us. But we could also see some impressive storm clouds in front of us, and modified our route slightly. We seemed to skirt all activity the rest of the way home.

Upon arrival, we discovered there had been tornadoes and large hail in the areas West and East of us (we were heading North), and we saw on the radar that the thin storm line stretched from Missouri up into Wisconsin. It was a solid line, except for one part. There was only one gap - the one we must have driven through. My prayers turned to praises as I realized what God's directions kept us from.

Sometimes there are moments in life that put everything into perspective. These moments happen suddenly, spontaneously, and within a breath they challenge and change that which you knew and thought was important.

Take, for instance, a day at the hospital with a mom who's son was dying. No longer concerned about the lateness of bills, she asked, "What's only $1.50 more for a late fee compared to this now?" That put it all into perspective.

She didn't say stop living; she just agreed the mundane had now become unimportant.

This happens daily in lives throughout our world. What's a dentist appointment compared to a widow whose husband was killed for his belief? Or what about those in dark prison cells wondering if justice will ever be served? It is things like these that make us wonder what's really important in life - and, am I living for it? Am I living in a way that I'm making a difference in the important things, and not just the mundane?

Paperwork, bills, appointments. These are all necessary throughout life, but when something happens like a sudden loss of home to fire, or a life to an accident, the importance all but goes away, and we begin to question and treasure that which really matters.

For after a loss, one treasures the little things, like a friendly smile, a helping hand. A prayer offered in faith. A shoulder to grieve on. Or a friend who cares to bring a casserole.

And then sometimes, it is through these things, these tragic moments, that we realize the things of true importance: that there is a God who cares, there is a body who shows Him, and it is our name He knows. And we can know Him.

We can know Him in joy and in tragedy, in friendship and through hatred. We can know there is a God who cares, who loves, and whose desire is for us to know Him. His arms are wide open, even in the midst of everyday life and tragic moments. His love never leaves, forsakes or fades. It is everlasting.

And that is what matters most.

A few weeks ago I was telling God how I was feeling like I was out on a limb with many things. His quick response was, "At the end of the branch is where the fruit grows."

A few days ago I was struggling between desires of my heart and thoughts of my mind. In frustration I asked when I should just follow my heart. The answer came quickly. "Never." Then, after a pause, "Follow mine."