I was raised in the Christian faith and sometimes all it takes to make those ancient stories come to life is one good storm. The Bible is full of storms.

Peter walked on water and then began to sink during a storm.

Jonah was thrown over into the sea during a storm and then swallowed by a whale.

Paul was shipwrecked due to storms.

I want to tell you about our most recent storm, but first let me tell you about our house.

The name Truth and Stone Home was inspired by our roughly 165-year-old home. I will never forget meeting this house for the first time. It was a Thursday in July. I was in the throes of the first trimester, standing in the kitchen of our starter home. We had zero intention of moving. We playfully had a realtor friend send us a list of properties with some acreage because I was, of course, falling prey to the new homesteading influencers.

So imagine my utter joy when my husband, on a random day in July, says, “Jess, you have to look at this house.” His eyes were wide and had something new in them. Something I hadn’t fully experienced just yet with him. Spontaneity.

He swiped through all the images on Zillow, and I found myself staring at the most beautiful colonial home.

“Let’s go look at it!” He said through a wide smile. His eyebrows raised, inviting me into a new adventure.

We called our realtor and were on the property 45 minutes later.  I have never been a love-at-first-sight type of person, but this particular day, I fully leaned into the idea. This beautiful house stood three stories high. Its walls were 18 inches thick, made up of neatly stacked limestone. It was rare and exquisitely beautiful. I ran my hand across the stone, pausing, as if to search for a pulse. I stared up at it, I kept anticipating movement. Certain that at any moment it would stretch from its hibernation, groan, and roll over. Exhaling over a century worth of stories, as it found its way back into slumber. We continued to examine the exterior portion of the house, it became evident that this house belonged in a museum behind glass. They simply did not make houses like this anymore.

“Eric,” I said to our realtor as we entered the kitchen. “This is my house, and I need you to get it for me.” I saw concern flicker across his face, but he covered it with a chuckle of disbelief. I knew what he was concerned about. I knew I probably looked foolish with how excited I was.

The property and portions of the home had been grossly neglected needing tens of thousands just to pass occupancy.

There was wood rot on the porch,

The city had just sent notice that they were no longer allowing gravel driveways. The property needed close to $50k in concrete work to pass occupancy.

The second bathroom was leaking into the living room and the chimneys appeared unstable.

That wasn’t the only problem; the attic needed to be gutted due to a fungus growing in the floorboards from pests, however, we didn’t find this out till after we moved in. Which was 41 days later.

We had, by some act of God, convinced the city to let us move in on a temporary occupancy until we could get the concrete laid under the pole barn and down the driveway. It took us almost 3 full years to fully renovate the property. The porch was our last big project, and I remember sitting down after it was done and thinking…..finally.

Then we got hit by a tornado.

It’s funny, prior to this event, I would have been annoyed if someone warned me about the weather. I grew up in the Midwest, we like to sit outside during severe storms and admire how God throws his strength around with all the elements. However, something felt different with this storm. It wasn’t a grab your lawn chair and admire the size of the hail from your front porch–kind of storm. No, the hail was coming in sideways making storm watching feel more like an abusive game of golf rather than your cozy summer storm. As for admiring God’s strength, the elements were headed right for us, clocked at 115 mph, in the form of an EF2 Tornado. This thing was 500 yards wide and rudely tried to take our porch directly off our house.

This particular storm had been predicted roughly five days prior, with every news station warning us that this was going to be unprecedented. I can hear my prideful self mentally quoting the Lion King, “I laugh in the face of danger. HA HA HA!”

My husband and I were outside locking everything down when it was as if God himself hit the pause button on the wind. We had been fighting 75-80 mph winds all day, and as we had just finished pulling the last car in the garage, everything cut. We both immediately stopped, locked eyes, and knew…. It was time to run.

But before we were able to move though, the oddest thing happened. With everything completely still and silent, a chorus of insects began to hum. As if to simultaneously warn each other of what was headed directly at us.

Then we could feel it beginning to pull on us. My husband pulled the garage door down. It hit the ground with a force I can still hear. I didn’t know that as we turned for the house, it would be the last time I would see my garage in one piece.

“Get downstairs,” I screamed. Our back door slammed against the wall as we burst inside. I instantly regretted not being more collected as I watched fear fill every line in my six year old’s face. There was no time to think of this though. The air pressure moving through the house confirmed what I knew was moments from happening. I feverishly ran through the kitchen, shucking knives and forks from dinner in random drawers and cracking the windows. Tony pulled all the blinds down in hopes of shielding us from any flying glass.

“Grab the flashlight.” My voice was shaking.

“GET DOWNSTAIRS,” I screamed again, scooping my 2-year-old up and pressing her face against my chest.  “Tony!” I said, motioning toward our 4 year old son, Roman.

We tore through the house for the basement door, slipping as we rounded the main floor turn. The power cut as we hit the basement steps. Then it was on us. A deep guttural sound engulfed the house. Ice cold air began to push through every crack in our home, it rushed in, poured over us, and then began pulling on us in an upward fashion. It wasn’t strong enough to lift us, but our clothes lapped at our faces like the water on the shore. The cellar doors begin slamming against the basement entrance. I wait for a loud crash, for us to be able to see the sky, for parts of my 165 year old home to bend, crack, or bow, but that didn’t happen.

Instead, as quickly as the tornado came, it went. When we arose from the basement, we knew we had months of recovery, but one thing was sure. Our house was strong. Many houses down our block were condemned or inhabitable. Ours just needed a new roof, gutters, and some patchwork on the stone. The garage roof was a street over and the chicken coop was a complete demo. Our house though, I stood in amazement staring up at it once again. It had completely protected us. There is something to the idea of a rock foundation. I hadn’t been completely foolish to want this house built out of rock.

The Bible speaks of this. It’s found in a portion of the book of Matthew that talks about wise and foolish builders.

“Therefore, everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” Matt 7:24–27

The storms of life are inevitable, but our foundation can be too. I hope you will stick around as we dive into this. In the meantime, if you are interested in footage from the storm, check out our Instagram.  I am headed off to get earthquake insurance.