We are in the middle of the storm. I don’t want to be here. I want to be safe, on the shore. Two years ago, the storm nearly destroyed me, and I thought the sun would never come out again. Now, two years later, it’s raining hard and the wind is picking up.
I don’t want to be here.
When life is spiraling out of control, I liken it to standing in the center of the tornado. It’s calm there–but all around are the pieces of things that I should be able to control. I’m trying to reach out and grab onto something–anything–but no sooner do I get a grip on it then something comes along and knocks it out of my hands.
I don’t want to be here.
I woke up last night to thunder and lightning. I laid there for a while, watching the lightning illuminate our room, and thought about the power behind the storm. I serve a big God, who controls the thunder and the lightning…and the storms in my life.
I don’t know why I’m here.
God and I are having big conversations right now. The kind where I yell and cry. When my children were little, sometimes I couldn’t fix what was wrong until they had cried it out. And sometimes, things aren’t meant to be fixed, but that doesn’t mean that the tears that we cry are in vain. And I’m learning that it’s OK to be really, really mad at God.
There’s a reason why I’m here.
I don’t know what it is yet. And I don’t like it any more just because I know that there is purpose behind it. I do not handle chaos well. Being out of control makes me anxious. The more anxious I get, the more out of control I feel. It’s a vicious circle that seems to have no end.
My anxiety is running high right now. I’ve made the mistake of not hiding it from the people who don’t understand, and I’ve heard the bite. “You just don’t have enough faith.”
They are probably right. I probably don’t have enough faith. But what, exactly, is enough faith? How do you quantify something as personal and intangible as faith? When I think of enough of something, I think in terms of things I can see and touch. We have enough milk for the week. Is there enough gas in the car. Did you get enough to eat.
Enough faith? I hope to never get to the point where I feel like I have enough faith. Because when you have enough, then you don’t need any more. And I will always need more, because there will always be storms.
The storm won’t last forever.
This won’t last forever. My head knows that. My heart–the feeling part of me–isn’t quite on board yet. We’ll get there though.
This morning, I went out to the garden to see what was ready to be picked. I was greeted by my tomato plants bent over and almost touching the ground.
My first reaction was grief. My poor tomatoes that we were so excited to plant and grow. The storm was so hard on them. Then I went to the garage, got the twine and the scissors…and got to work. They are tied up now. They have an anchor, for when the storm comes again. They weren’t broken–just bent. And they will be alright.
Hold on, little plants. I’ll hold you up when the storm is strong enough to bend you.
I have an anchor, for when the storm comes again. I’m not broken–just bent. “Sometimes, He calms the storm. And sometimes, He lets the storm rage and calms His child.”
Hold on, my child. I’ll hold you up when the storm is strong enough to bend you.