We’re still having the mid-day storms. Typical Florida summer weather, but ones we don’t take for granted anymore. It used to be like this when I was a kid. We set our clocks by the afternoon thunderstorms. At 2:00, they began to build and by 4:00, we had a brief, but exciting deluge. I have a theory that the construction of the Interstate interrupted nature’s pattern. I’m no scientist, but if the afternoon storms are caused by the sea breeze meeting the warm inland air, then adding a section of steamy pavement isolating the coast from the interior seems suspicious to me. Lucy abandoned shivering in the bathtub. Now, when I come home for lunch and open the refrigerator to get sandwich fixings, she tries to get inside it. Like Lucy, I’ve been looking for a safe place to hide this week. It’s been an emotional time. On Monday, a woman was violently murdered in the middle of the afternoon in her home on our island less than a mile from our house. It was the wife of husband and sons’ doctor. I was coping okay until the news showed pictures of her son in his uniform, flown home from military duty in Germany. He went to school with oldest son. Now, his mom is dead. On Tuesday, I found out my mom had surgery the day before, but didn’t tell me. That’s just not right because I am the crisis daughter. My sister is the everyday daughter. She visits regularly and makes sure my mom gets to her hair cut appointments, but I am the one who swoops in when there is an emergency. I am the hospital and doctor daughter. So, I don’t know whether to be insulted or relieved that she waited until after the surgery to tell me. On Wednesday, I watched over and over the video as the news reporters, released from captivity in North Korea, reunited with their families. The background noise included the sound of someone weeping very loudly. It almost matched my sobbing as I thought about those mothers and daughters together again. Today, we finished final packing for youngest son’s return to Brazil. He will be on a mission trip to the Amazon for thirteen days starting tomorrow. His trip will be different this year, much harder, for record rains have caused the river to flood. The villages where they were last year have been washed out and tens of thousands of Brazilians are without homes, food and clothing. They will be distributing food and basic medical supplies, helping to clean out the churches and schools. Youngest son is more serious about taking his malaria medicine this year and has promised to stay out of the river for fear of disease. So, as a mom, it has been an emotional week with lots to think about, a loss of sleep and some extra worries. But, unlike Lucy, I know in Whom I have shelter. Despite all the news, I am resting there.