Is it possible to enjoy giving up control? I ponder this question as we begin the second drive of our great adventure, from Kansas City to Denver. I am not driving, and giving the wheel to anyone else is extremely unpleasant for me.

For years, a number of experiences have convinced me that great things happen when they’re in my control, that there are few difficult scenarios that I can’t make better by chipping away at them, and now, as I am simply along for the ride, I’m realizing how on edge I am when I’m not the one calling all the shots.

On a recent Monday night, a friend in Nashville applauded me, saying, “You’re giving up control and putting your life in God’s hands! That’s awesome!” He was right, but I still didn’t like the sound of it, even though I am living it. Here’s a list of things I love that I’m intentionally giving up controlling for three months: being in professional demand, my obsession with attacking my family’s “unfunded liabilities” (college and retirement funds), the comfort of a home I love, and the routines and rhythms of all my relationships.

It is exhilarating and scary. I was an “A-player” when I lived in the world of Microsoft Office, but I don’t even know if I can play on this field of unpredictability in the game of “Let Go.” We were given a great lesson in this yesterday in Kansas City.

After a full, fun day exploring Sea Life, Crown Center, Union Station and Kaleidoscope downtown, we headed back to Liberty, MO, where we were staying with some friends, about 20 minutes outside the city. The kids were exhausted, but we’d had a great day; they’d been on their feet for five hours with no complaints.

On the way back to Liberty, we stopped at a Starbucks for coffee and tea, where I was refused service because a tornado had been sighted and was headed our way. The barista asked if I wanted to move to shelter, but I said, “No thank you, I have my family in the minivan, and we need to figure out what to do.”

We quickly drove up the parking lot to the Hy-Vee, an Iowa-based grocery chain, and saw about fifteen people staring and pointing at the ever-darkening sky. A manager was in front of the store, ordering everyone in the parking lot to “get in the cooler as quickly as possible.”

The kids grabbed their lovies and our hands, and we ran for shelter, because when someone in the Midwest tells you to take cover, you believe them, even if it means packing in to a massive refrigerator with two dozen strangers.

Towles and I herded the children into a 100 square foot cooler, along with the Hy-vee deli and pizza station employees, along with a few members of the sushi station and a few other shoppers. We huddled in the cold as the tornado approached, beneficiaries of this unusual sanctuary and the kindness of strangers who offered their fleeces and sweaters to our shivering kids, and whose light spirits kept Claire, in particular, from completely freaking out.

We emerged fifteen minutes later, the tornado missing us by a full mile.

This was the ultimate moment of no control. Inclement weather quickly reminds us that our own sense of power is a great illusion. And oddly enough, I enjoyed that experience in the cooler immensely.

I am learning to resist the urge to grab the wheel as I watch the land flatten out, west of Topeka. I am enjoying the lasting, most important, little things, as I listen to one child patiently learning to read, sounding out words with little help, while another entertains us with silly songs and another asks me to play the same game with him again and again. Perhaps I am on the way to Liberty, after all, even though I left there at 8 am.