A storm is blowing in. Dark and gray and brooding, the weather seems to match my mood right now. The wind whips and my hair lashes my face. It seems angry, and I’m glad. I am too.
It’s been a stormy week. A dear friend’s brother died. Young and bright, taken by tragedy in the middle of the night. Thunder shakes the foundations. Another friend receives divorce papers in a too-new marriage. Heart raw and aching when it seems who she is wasn’t enough. Tears fall fast and furious, like the raindrops pounding on my window. My only family torn apart, nursing an open wound of mental illness, alcohol abuse, and anger. Trying to find a way to cope when hearts are seared by pain as white as lightening and nothing ever changes… nothing ever gets a chance to mend.
It is stormy all around. It feels dangerous, dark, and lonely. I know the man who speaks peace to the storm. I know who He is, but sometimes the wind’s so loud and the rain’s so thick and the lightening’s so bright. Sometimes I just can’t see him. Sometimes I just can’t hear him.
I look out the window at my flowers. The petals strain to hold on in the torrent of the storm… It seems impossible. Wind whipping and twisting them, they hold on for dear life. How are they not destroyed? They can be beautiful on the other side of the storm if they just hold on.
And so we do. We hold on, trusting we were created for more than tragedy and heartache and sorrow. We’re tender and delicate. We can’t always find shelter. Sometimes it feels like we are bearing the full fury of the storm, its wrath threatening to tear us apart and uproot us. We are so small and it seems so big and all we can do is hold on. And God I can’t do this anymore-prayers come screaming from our souls.
And the miraculous thing? In a beautiful act of redemption, the same storm that feels so threatening brings life. The water sinks into the cracks of this desert soil… roots dig in deeper, reach down further, chasing the water they sense below. Life flourishes… we grow – a little stronger, a little surer – with each storm. It isn’t that we’re never hurt, but we can heal. For each weathered storm brings deeper roots; a deeper trust that the one who speaks peace to a storm is speaking peace to our souls.
It has been a hard week. I’d love to hear how God is speaking peace to you in your circumstances right now. Sharing brings mutual encouragement, so I want/need/can’t wait to hear your stories. Feel free to just comment – or if it is a long one, blog about it and post a link!