There is something altogether surreal about seeing your hometown, in broken pieces, on freaking CNN. To see pictures of your high school, blown through. The very walls you walked now shot through with wind. You shouldn't be able to see your locker from the street.
There are lots of "shouldn't bes" though. Kids shouldn't be dead. Protesters shouldn't invade. Looters shouldn't take.
Stories of courage too. Of managers holding a door shut to keep customers and employees safe for as long as possible. Of husbands shielding their wives. People huddled down, praying, saying "I love you" as the tornado roars over them.
Part of me wishes I could be there, as my brother and an old pastor friend go to take supplies. Part of me wishes I could just do something to put the pieces back together. To fix it. So I pray. I pray for friends whose houses are gone. I pray for friends whose family members are gone too.
I slip into my Joplin sweats and t-shirt and I pray.