Storms

Looking out my front windows to the north I see a storm brewing. Clouds in various shapes and sizes in varying degrees of grey, black and white are simmering and building. They appear to be motionless, but they’re not. The wind is picking up. The wind chimes on the patio are strumming and singing, growing more insistent as the wind announces the approaching storm. Rain and wind are coming. Will there be thunder and lightning? I notice the absence of bird song and chatter. My bare-bones apple tree branches are filled with little birds watching and waiting. Nature knows…

Friends and family in various parts of the country are experiencing storms in varying degrees of severity. Some have below-freezing temperatures that turn deadly, some are being devastated by tornadoes and blizzards, while others are facing floods and record rainfall. Other parts of the country have milder temperatures and the fear of drought looms from the lack of water.

When the weather forecasters display their satellite generated models of atmospheric pressure, wind, moisture and all the variables that make up a storm it can bring a sense of security in knowing what’s coming, how to plan, protect and predict. Sometimes these predictions are spot on and other times not.

Watching and waiting for this storm to make its entrance reminds me of life. There are times when all the little hairs on the back of the neck and arms stand on end and our discernment and awareness are heightened. We feel a storm approaching. We become alert and aware of every changing nuance in our atmosphere. We watch body language and what is and isn’t said; we are hyper-aware that something is off-kilter and become quiet as we observe our surroundings. The unsettled feeling of knowing something is coming but not knowing how to plan, predict and prepare stirs feelings of chaos, fear and urgency into a thick brew of panicked helplessness.

Other times because of circumstances, conversations, or a diagnosis we know what is coming and because of that we attempt to predict, sometimes with fairly good accuracy and sometimes not, what the outcome might be. Having that knowledge simmering and stewing in our minds is a terrible and exhausting feeling, as we rehearse, play out and attempt to control what’s coming. But we really can’t, can we?

Our limited humanity is an an exhausting, frightening, chaotic thing, isn’t it? We so desperately want to control and order our lives. We want peace and happiness and attempt to forge for ourselves a chaos-free zone that bubbles, protects and shuts out all things hurtful, harmful and terrible. We might succeed for a bit in keeping at bay all that howls and thrashes outside, but there are cracks – flaws in our construction and the storm knows the way inside. Sometimes it will patiently wait, prodding and poking the infrastructure, testing and observing where the design flaws are hiding. Little by little it oozes in causing small bits of erosion and damage that we don’t notice immediately until chunks of our carefully constructed barriers begin crumbling and falling.

Other times it strikes so violently, fast and hard that our safe bubble pops with terrifying suddenness and we are left in a ruin of rubble and disaster and have no idea how to rebuild. Blindsided.

In the midst of all this ruin is Hope. Jesus.

He’s the Master Designer, Creator, Lover. He is the Light that breaks through all darkness and commands it to flee. He’s done it before, is doing it and will do it again. Why He permits the storms and darkness to enter our bubbles, I don’t know.  Believe me when I say I have asked Him, cried, raged, screamed and demanded answers from Him for the bubble breaking storms I have endured. I do  know that He wants to take the hurt, rage, fury, and heartbreak from us because He is the only one who can take the wounded devastation and rebuild the ruins and horror into something breathtaking, holy, and beautiful. It becomes sacred ground. What He rebuilds is strong, graceful, thankful and hopeful. He positions us to be light to another who finds themselves in the midst of a storm. He takes ashes and gives beauty, He takes mourning and gives joy, He takes heaviness and despair and gives a spirit of praise and peace as is said in Isaiah 61:3 “To all who mourn in Israel he will give: beauty for ashes; joy instead of mourning; praise instead of heaviness. For God has planted them like strong and graceful oaks for his own glory.”

Sometimes what we’ve built has to be torn down in order for us to experience what is waiting for us on the other side of the storm. Way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper, light in the darkness. That is Jesus and He is our hope – our true anchor in the storm.