Old made new, brings peace

Tom Pinney

On Dec. 26, 2015, my life changed completely.

That may sound strange, but I sit here and think that, if not for that night, who I am would be completely different from who I am today.

In the fall of 2015, I was slowly realizing that I needed a break from my graduate program at Northwest. The requirements to finish kept getting steeper and more out of reach for me, and though I knew I needed a break, I was never going to take one. I was going to keep going until I finished, regardless of what it would do to my mental health.

I was going through the motions on the speech and debate team, coaching around my students and skipping tournaments because I was so unsure of whether or not I was a “lifer.” In other words, I wasn’t sure if I was someone who could or would be a speech and debate coach for the rest of my life. I was tired of it.

In the midst of all of this, I wasn’t confronting my feelings toward the dissolution of my parents’ marriage, and I was letting everything stew under the surface. When I got back to Texas for Christmas, I didn’t want to be there, and I was counting down the days until I could go back to Missouri. I had only intended to stay for a week and a half, tops.

Then, it happened.

On Dec. 26, 2015, with my little sister back on the other side of the Metroplex at work, my little brother a couple of miles away from home at work, and my dad at the church in far east Dallas, and me at my dad’s house, a tornado formed in De Soto, Texas, a southern suburb of the Metroplex. After demolishing part of De Soto, the tornado dissipated to go through Dallas proper.

It reformed as an EF3 in Mesquite, and strengthened to an EF4 as it passed through Rowlette, making its way to Garland.

Making its way toward me.

I hunkered down in the sink room of a two-part master bathroom, a towel draped around my neck, as the most harrowing two minutes of my life took place. What sounded like a freight train passed right next to the house, caving in the walls, and throwing my world around.

I don’t really know how it happened, but the tornado saved me from myself.

I didn’t have the ability to actually do something about the direction my life was taking. But because of the tornado, I started making real, intentional moves for me and my mental health.

I spoke more candidly with my therapist, being more honest about everything in my life.

I worked more earnestly with my kids on the team, making sure I was doing everything I could to put them in the position to be successful.

I took an honest look at my education and realized that I really needed a break.

The sad part is that it took me a very long time to realize that this devastating storm that really should have killed me was one of the biggest blessings I could have ever received.

One of the reasons why I couldn’t see the blessing in the storm was that it gave me this really fun thing called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, making it hard for me to really see any sort of blessing through this disaster. All I saw for a few weeks when I slept was the tornado.

At six months, this past June, I went back to Texas for a family reunion and we went to the house to see the area. There was a frame of a house. I saw a graveyard.

Literally, a graveyard. It felt like a very vivid flashback, but right then and there, the bright summer day turned to a foggy night, and I saw a bunch of gravestones where the frame of the house then stood.

This past Monday marked the anniversary of the tornado, and I wanted to try and go back again so that I could end the mental healing process.

When we got there, we saw a house nearing completion. The builder was there, and after explaining my situation, I went in the house.

Instead of seeing a graveyard, I saw hope. I saw beauty. I saw another family’s chance at a great home.

The house which had a year prior been the scene of a miracle was now a testament to the promise of new life.

And it was a great sight to behold.