Posted in May 2022

I grew up in a place where the weather changes every day.

“The highs will be in the 90s today,” the reporter announced at 6 a.m. on News 9.

Wearing flip flops and shorts, I went to school. After lunch, mud was smeared across the tile floor in the hallway where students crowded.

An unexpected downpour came through Stephens County in Oklahoma.

My hair frizzed, rain drops spotted backpacks, and students stomped through puddles. Umbrellas were piled in classroom corners where they could drip-dry.

But by the time the buses lined the parking lot after school, the sun was out. Evening ball games continued on in wet fields with humid air.

By nightfall, the weather would change again.

“We urge you to find shelter. Again, this is a tornado warning for Stephens, Caddo, and Comanche counties,” the News 9 reporter said.

My dad, a lake ranger and police officer, had the duty to alert campers about the storm.

Meanwhile, my mama drove my sisters and me to the youth room located in the basement of the church—our closest shelter from the storm.

I remember the thrill of the calm before the storm as I picked up my Chihuahua and gathered my two favorite dolls and my bible.

I longed to feel the strong wind but not experience its destruction.

In Qatar, I still feel wind—mixed with the sting of sand.

But rain, hail, cold fronts, snow, tornadoes—these forces hardly, if ever, visit the desert.

Last week though, shortly before our morning meeting at work, pitter-patters could be heard upon the metal-topped warehouse.

The noise began as a light tapping and gradually erupted into a heavy pounding.

My colleagues and I rushed to the door to see the rain fall on the otherwise dry parking lot that endures intense heat for the majority of the year.

“It’s raining!” we said.

Others ran to the door to peek outside to see for themselves.

I was hoping for a “snow” day—wishing that we would all be sent home to enjoy hot chocolate and movies as the rain poured.

But we stayed at work. The roads did not flood, and the rain stopped within the next hour.

The feeling that the day was extraordinary though remained as my colleagues chatted about the rain into the afternoon—not because they had nothing else to say but because the rain was newsworthy indeed.