“The Salvation Army Showed Up Out of Nowhere”: Tornado Survivor Grateful After Storm

She knew bad weather was coming.

Lauren Rungeling had been watching the forecast and texting friends and family to check in on everyone as the storms moved in. By just after 7 p.m., the weather outside her home changed in an instant.

“I’m pretty sure it was hailing, and the wind was almost totally horizontal,” she said. “The sky became a very unnatural color, like almost olive green.”

She knew it was time to take shelter.

She quickly ran into her bathroom and climbed into the shower. She even closed the curtain, hoping it would offer some small protection. Within minutes, the storm was on top of her.

Then she heard the windows blow out.

“It was just so very loud,” she said. “At one point, I screamed in the shower, but I could not hear my own scream. Everybody says it sounds like a train. I wouldn’t say it sounds like a train. It was just very loud. I don’t ever want to do it again, that is for sure.”

By 7:05 p.m., it was suddenly over, and a strange quiet settled.

Then she heard someone calling for help.

She tried to go out through her back patio door, but she had to shove it open. And that was when she saw what had happened behind her.

“I really thought everything was fine until I saw everyone else behind me,” she said. “There were no roofs. No roofs at all.”

Roofs had been ripped away. Glass was everywhere. Homes that had been standing just minutes before were suddenly ripped apart.

Lauren said she was especially grateful her 12-year-old son had gone to church with his grandparents in Dixie that night and was not home when the tornado hit.

In the hours after the storm, neighbors began trying to understand what had happened and what came next. Then help arrived.

To Lauren, it felt like The Salvation Army had come out of nowhere.

“The Salvation Army has already helped so much,” she said. “You guys showed up out of nowhere. Like, are you living underground? Like, what’s happening?” she added with a small laugh.

For her, the help was simple but deeply needed.

“You gave us lunch,” she said. “We had sandwiches and Cheetos and waters, and you already have done so much just by being here. Thank you.”

In a neighborhood where roofs were gone and families were still processing the fear, damage and shock of the storm, a meal and a bottle of water were more than supplies. They were a reminder of normalcy and that no one had to face the aftermath alone.

After a night she says she never wants to experience again, that presence meant everything.