A weather alert was issued for my area this evening warning of possible tornadoes. I buttoned up the house, secured the vehicles, tidied the yard, sent a message of love to my daughters, gathered the family, and headed to the basement.

I expected a tornado.

It never came.

I had even texted my daughters, just in case there wasn’t another opportunity to tell them I loved them. As the evening passed quietly, I felt a little foolish. My mind had replayed the images of the 1987 Edmonton tornado, convincing me that history might repeat itself.

Then I started thinking.

How many times have I been let down—not by life itself, but by my expectations of it?

How often have I lived through disasters that existed only in my imagination? How much energy have I spent preparing for outcomes that never arrived?

Oddly enough, a small part of me almost wanted to see a tornado. Not because I wished for destruction, but because I wondered if something that powerful would remind us all where our gratitude truly belongs.

Perhaps expectations don’t just prepare us.

Perhaps they quietly rob us of the peace that reality was willing to offer all along.