Torrents of rain pounded the roof. Squall after wind-driven squall battered our mountain community leaving many areas in ruin. Mudslides, tornado warnings, a flood of massive proportions kept everyone on high alert until the October storm passed us by.
This was highly unusual.
A mountain storm of this magnitude in October took everyone by surprise.
The next day we drove down to the river. Although the flooding was receding, the muddy current still flowed well beyond its banks.
Life happens like that sometimes. A storm blows in and blows up and catches us unaware, leaving devastation in its wake.
As we drove slowly along the gravel road viewing the swollen river, the Holy Spirit stirred within me. He opened my eyes to see and ponder the debris left behind by the ravaging water. Piles of dead underbrush. Broken limbs dangling from the goldenrods clinging to the riverbank. Plastic bottles — leftovers from a memory. And mud — lots of mud.
I thought about the debris of my own heart — hurts, betrayals, broken dreams, memories that refused to fade. And I thought about how the storms of life and the torrents of tears gather those things and bring them to the surface, exposing them to the light of God’s love.
It is said that after massive floods, the course of the river is changed. Perhaps that is true of us as well — the course of our lives change following fierce storms. Currents of difficulty churn away at our hearts shifting boundaries here, leaving hard-to-reach sandbars there.
But storms also drop us to our knees where we call out to our Father, and He responds with His comfort and peace. And though the life course may shift just a bit, we now realize we are not alone and that the new bend in the river allows us to see a radiant sunrise once obliterated by the boulders along the river’s edge.
And that’s good news, something worthy of praise.