Before the Storm

The sky looks heavy today.

The kind of overcast that presses down on the morning before anything has actually happened yet. The forecasts have been talking about severe storms, enough that the kids are getting half days from school so everyone can be home before the weather rolls through.

So today feels like preparation.

Not panic.
Just readiness.

Which feels fitting, because the whole weekend felt like that too.

If Friday’s post was about the packed bag, this weekend was about making sure everything inside it was ready.

Friday night, Jacob and I went out to get him ready for baseball.

Like his brother David, Jacob throws left-handed. That meant we could size the glove in the store, but the actual one he needs had to be ordered online. Left-handed gear isn’t always sitting on the shelf waiting for you.

It should arrive today.

There’s something about watching your kids step into a new season that slows your thinking down. You start seeing moments not just as errands, but as markers.

Sizing gloves.
Trying cleats.
Talking about practice schedules.

Little signals that a season is beginning.

David has his baseball evaluations today, assuming the storms don’t push things around.

Jacob’s practices stack up across the week: Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. David’s schedule will fall into place after today, likely landing Wednesday and maybe Saturday as well.

That probably means most evenings this week will be spent at the ball fields.

One son practicing.

The other one throwing a ball back and forth with me in the grass nearby.

And honestly, that sounds like a pretty good way to spend a week.

Saturday became a preparation day.

The kind of day where you get small things done so the week ahead doesn’t feel chaotic.

It also happened to be Pi Day.

We had originally planned steaks on the grill for family dinner that night, but the evening was running later than expected. So I surprised the kids with pizza instead and pushed the steaks to Sunday.

Sometimes the best plan is just the one that keeps everyone smiling.

Sunday had its own moment.

My wife had a solo in the church choir.

The kids and I filed into church and took seats up front.

“Where mommy can see us.”

It felt important that she could look out and find us there.

Way back when we were dating, what feels like several lifetimes ago now, I remember hearing her sing O Holy Night for the first time. It’s always been one of my favorite songs. A short list kind of song.

When she started singing, the world stopped.

The clarity of her voice.
The purity of it.

I remember sitting there breathless, a little stunned, realizing I was hearing something special.

That hasn’t changed.

Yesterday she stepped up to the microphone and sang the introduction to Shine on Us. I could see the nerves in her shoulders before the first note.

And then she started singing.

For a moment I was right back there again, years ago, hearing her voice fill the room the same way it did then.

The kids and I sat there smiling at her the whole time.

Anchors.

She knocked it out of the park.

Very proud husband here.

After church I ran out to pick up a grill.

Our old one apparently decided that eight winters was enough service and quietly retired from duty.

So Sunday evening we finally had the steak and potato dinner we had planned the night before.

And I had forgotten something.

Charcoal steaks just taste better.

By the time the day wound down, I could already see what the week was going to look like.

Baseball starting.
Work ramping up.
Storms rolling through.
Schedules filling quickly.

So last night I did something simple.

I went to bed when the kids did.

Sometimes preparation means getting ahead.

Sometimes it just means getting rest.

The whole weekend felt like preparation.

Baseball gloves ordered.
Schedules coming together.
Family dinners salvaged.
Storm clouds gathering.

Now we wait and see what the weather does.

And if it clears the way, we’ll be out on the ball fields all week.

Watching.
Practicing.
Growing.

Together.

Sometimes the sky gets heavy before the storm.

But heavy skies don’t mean something bad is coming.

Sometimes they just mean the air is changing.

And the next season is about to begin.

It’s easy to miss the quiet moments that hold a family together.

The seat you choose in church so someone can see you.

The glove ordered online because left-handed kids are harder to outfit.

The charcoal grill bought at the last minute so dinner still happens.

None of it looks important on its own.

But stitched together, it becomes something bigger.

Preparation.
Presence.
Love that shows up in small decisions over and over again.

Storm or not, the week is coming.

And we’re ready for it.

This is a grounded moment.
The work continues.
See you Wednesday.