A few weeks ago we had one of those rains where it seems like the whole sky opens up. Trees bent under the weight of it. Birds scurried to find shelter.
Every living creature seemed to realize the need to stay dry except my dog, who I inadvertently left out while running errands. She just laid there sopping wet, hanging her face when I remembered to let her inside. She had a huge covered porch where she could stay covered, but she chose to take a cold shower.
Afternoon came and the rain stopped but the storm clouds stayed. I drove to the bus stop and was struck by the scene around me.
Trees and flowers and glowed against a backdrop of stormy sky, their leaves all sparkling and wet. It was beautiful.
The dark clouds provided a canvas that illuminated creation.
Living, thriving. Not in spite of the storm, but because of it.
It reminded me of situations I’m facing now and the lives of dear friends. Storms are everywhere, and yet life goes on.
I ache for those who fill my conversations and enter my prayers. I curse the devil and wish he’d go away, never to threaten those I hold close. And then I see my dog laying there in the rain. I see the God’s creation flickering in the storm.
I know his greatness is not limited by these clouds, these distortions to my vision.
Sometimes instead of evading the storm, we have to let it drench us.
We have to let it hit us with all the life lessons, the cold, and even the pain. We can grieve for what’s stripped away from us in the hard rain and we can yell when we don’t understand it, but we have to let it do its work.
And when we do, our roots grow deep. They aren’t ripped up by the tide rushing around us, but are held tightly by promises that surpass all the temporary things of this world.
Christ’s hope doesn’t equal the absence of chaos. It’s found right there in the thick of it.
His Light shines in the darkness. In the tears, the sleepless nights and the questions.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
John 1:5 NIV
It’s then that we hear him whispering, “Come to me.”
Don’t wait until you have it all figured out and your life is perfect. Come to me in your mess. Come to when you’re weary and burdened.
And when we do, we find he brings beauty right there in the middle of our storm. He doesn’t wait until the clouds pass and the sun breaks through.
His glory isn’t hidden. As we draw near, it’s illuminated because of it.