This afternoon’s model runs cast some lines on the wrong side of where I live.

Here we are, closing out the day before we shut the campus down a few hours early to go home, stow the lawn and patio furniture, and hunker down to wait for what tomorrow has in store.   Part of waiting for any storm, of course, is watching the track: how near or far will the center pass, east or west, because east/west can make a BIG difference.

Hopefully, as all indications have shown since a couple of days ago, Isaac is going to miss my house to the east, meaning we’ll be on the distinctly favorable left side of the storm since the most violent and nasty stuff goes on on the storm’s right.  And if we could be enough miles safely situated to the west, so much the better.

In these waning hours of watching and waiting, though, Isaac is making me squirm.  Some of the 1:00 p.m. model runs pushed farther west, some even west of the house and/or running over the house.

Hopefully, since the National Hurricane Center’s track hasn’t shown a dramatic shift, the models are just models of what’s theoretically possible and NHC’s good science is still telling the truth about the storm’s ultimate path.  But with these darned storms, we never know.  If the consequence of not knowing was no worse than “We may get a shower today or maybe not,” that would be fine.   Unfortunately, consequences in a huricane don’t settle on us so matter-of-factly.

Maybe these sensations of tight-chested, dreadful awe that we feel in the hours a hurricane approaches helps us understand why God chose to speak to Job out of the voice of a storm.  These natural expressions of fury are effective attention-getters, for sure.

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