Thursday, June 14, 7:15 a.m. The storm has turned the highway into a river. White-knuckled and blinded by the pounding rain on my windshield, I want to be anywhere but here. I pray for the rain to stop. This is what fear feels like. Friday, June 15, 8:15 a.m. My stagnant little creek bed has turned into a soothing babbling brook. I sit on the makeshift wooden bridge, my feet dangling above the sand and rocks. This is exactly where I want to be. I thank God for the beauty. This is what peace feels like. I have a million…