01/29/2026
The Nashville ice storm is giving us a week or more that none of us will forget. Days without power, ice coating everything it has touched, trees cracking and falling some even exploding, and a new thing I’ve never heard of called “ice quakes” where it sounded like the ground itself was breaking. Entire parts of town went dark and quiet, looking nothing like the Nashville we’re used to - it has been pretty eerie at times.
These days have stripped life down in unexpected ways. I’ve realized how much I rely on convenience now that it was suddenly gone. Life shrank down to what mattered…what we had in the pantry, how many layers we could pile on, power for what our generator and extension cords could give us, games pulled out and played way past bedtime, our routines paused, time suddenly stretching instead of racing.
And right in the middle of all of it, babies arrived and carried on as if nothing unusual was happening at all. They slept, they curled their tiny hands, their little lungs breathed in a world they didn’t know was frozen or unstable or loud. They didn’t notice the storm, only the warmth of being held and the quiet work of growing.
It felt like a picture of how God asks us to live. Not unaware of the storm, but unshaken by it. Rooted in trust instead of fear. Focused on what’s right in front of us… daily bread, steady growth, staying close… rather than the noise and uncertainty surrounding us. Holding on to what is good and true, even when the world outside feels anything but.
And when it is all said and done, the power will come back, the ice will melt. The damage will reveal itself. But, what remains is the memory of these day, the discomfort, the closeness, and the reminder that life doesn’t pause for catastrophe; it keeps unfolding right in the middle of it.
