Thunderbolts and lightning
A wacko squall blew through here this morning. I was trapped inside the commissary, unable to get my groceries to my van because white walls of water were swirling sideways through the parking lot. My umbrella wouldn’t have withstood that, and I’m pretty sure the tiny little Asian lady who bagged my groceries would have been blown to Walton county. It was vicious.
When I got home I discovered that Mr. Sparky hadn’t put our giant 90 gallon recycling bin on the curb this morning. This was a very good thing because most of the other giant 90 gallon recycling bins on the curb had been blown over and their contents scattered all over the street, along with leaves, pine cones, and small limbs. Some folks nearby lost entire trees to the 70 mph gusts.
For as much wind and water that whipped through here this morning, there was relatively little in the way of flashes and booms. That storm wasn’t about noise and threat. It was about demonstrating as much destructive power as possible during its brief life.
I think we’ve all weathered those kinds of storms.
And you know what I’m talking about.
Sometimes life is full of thunder and lightning and it sounds scary and feels intimidating. You’re glad when it’s over, but in the end the hardest part was enduring all the noise and threat. But you don’t find that out until it’s over and the dust settles.
And then there are those other times. The times when it feels like a massive tornado just ripped into your life, making your head spin and turning your heart inside out, and you have to hang on for dear life because there is no doubt this thing means to eat you alive if it can.
Storms are a part of life. There is 0% chance of being born into this world and having everything go your way all the time. Nobody gets a charmed life, and it would be terrible for us to have one anyway. The same thing that spoils small children also spoils adults. Without the storms, we are walking theories of character, untested and untried.
And while we can’t live a charmed life, we can live a loved life. There is no storm so big, so loud, or so powerful that it can separate us from the love of God. If we get offended and point an accusing finger at Him because the storm exists, it will make it hard for us to feel His love, but He won’t stop loving. He is the refuge our hearts long for in the middle of the deluge.
He is safety. He is shelter. He is the foundation under our feet that won’t crack, won’t dissolve, won’t wash away.
And He can teach us to laugh at the thunder and dance in the rain, even if we laugh through tears and dance with a limp.