I stood looking at the devastation. The house was ripped in half, debris across the lawn and field beyond. The barn was gone.

I watched as the family picked at their belongings, sighing at broken things and exclaiming over found items as if they were buried treasure. My forehead creased in empathy.

The tornado hadn’t touched my house. All of my belongings were safe. There were a few trees down and we were out of power, but we were fortunate. I couldn’t imagine what my neighbors were going through.

I began to wonder about Things. Things have a way of storing memories, of attaching themselves to you. You never want to lose some Things. But it’s all the same to a tornado. Nothing is sacred. Or spared.

I went inside. I began packing up some essentials. Extra Things I couldn’t have lived without before, but now seemed trivial. I put them into boxes and invited the neighbors over for lemonade. We chatted and I offered my boxed up Things.

As they climbed into their truck, my tears were as happy as theirs.