Thoughts of Easter as storm clouds gather

Written from the floor of the powder room: I'd like to wish all of you a happy, happy Easter!

I wanted to make sure I got that out before the oncoming tornado -- which every TV channel, radio station and firehouse siren is warning me about at this very moment -- whisks me and my two personal Totos off to Oz, or out to sea, which is so typical of my luck.

I was sitting here reflecting on the solemnity and holiness of Easter, just pondering the reasons we celebrate this holiday, and what it means to so many of us: the realization of redemption, the unutterable joy, the fulfillment of a promise of forgiveness, and the end of suffering and deprivation ... meaning, of course, that we finally get the green light to eat every chocolate thing we can lay our hands on, before some child grabs it.

(Oh, relax. I may be that deprived, but I'm not that depraved. I don't have to steal chocolate out of the hands of children -- I can wait till they're asleep. Please, how does a 3-year-old know how many Cadbury eggs he had when he went to bed?)

Anyway, I was thinking back on all the Easters that have come and gone: coloring eggs, hunting for our baskets, new Easter dresses and patent-leather shoes for church, gorging on huge chocolate eggs with our names on them, filled with fudge, or coconut, or vanilla cream, or peanut butter, or whatever -- and crash! My train of thought chugged right off a cliff, as the first siren blared. Always focused in a crisis, it took me approximately a minute and a half to process the fact that it wasn't the phone, or the doorbell, or the oven timer, although, between you and me, I picked up the phone, opened the door and checked inside the oven ... uh ... just kidding, you'd have to be a moron to do that.

So, I switched on the TV, which is too distracting to have on when I'm writing, because I only watch wedding shows, which I get caught up in and end up crying every time; or cooking shows, which I get caught up in and, after realizing how fattening they are, end up crying every time; or the Spa Music channel, which will either be way too peaceful -- inducing less writing and more ... well, sleeping, let's be honest -- or it's this weird pipe-playing, like mournful geese lamenting the death of their pond-mate.

This time, I turned to a local channel, where I was sternly warned that tornadoes had been spotted in several North Carolina counties, and damage was reported all over the place. I looked outside then ... um, not that it didn't occur to me before, of course ... and saw that the sky was a strange sort of jet-black, the giant pine trees were bending over to kiss the ground, the hail was coming down in blinding sheets and the deck furniture was on its way to Toledo. Huh, I thought, we're having a heck of a storm. At that moment, the phone rang. I said hello, and heard, "Why are you answering the phone? Don't you know there's a tornado coming right down your road?! Get in your closet right now!"

" Who is this?" I asked, but she'd hung up. I think it was my friend Wendy, who is a somewhat emotional woman, unlike me. I always believe in maintaining an even keel. (Did you hear that? It's the sound of dozens of my friends and family members dropping their coffee cups simultaneously.)

I looked back at the TV at that point, just in time to see the view from the station's camera, mounted atop a skyscraper in downtown Raleigh. Off in the distance, you could actually see the gigantic approaching storm. My niece and her new husband live in Raleigh, so I called immediately.

"Becky, are you OK?" I asked anxiously.

"Sure, why?" she asked.

"Uh, haven't you been watching the weather?"

"No, Ryan and I are playing Scrabble," she said. (Scrabble -- so that's what they're calling it now.) "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing, honey," I answered calmly, trying not to frighten her little blond self. "But, why don't you take the 'Scrabble' game into the guest bathroom, you know, just for fun!"

"OK!" she responded. So cute. I hoped she wouldn't be "playing Scrabble" when her house was picked up and moved to a different neighborhood.

When the TV station went abruptly off the air, I got the message, took my laptop into the bathroom -- and began to pray. God bless those who lost loved ones. God bless those who lost their homes. And, God bless those who were delivered, just like on that first Easter Sunday.

Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at vwentz@mindspring.com.