Tonight I smelled the storm. You know that smell right before a good rain comes? The dirt stirred up by the whipping air. The dampness hanging overhead, waiting. It was great. I wanted to go for a walk, a jog, a skip, a gallop, anything to stay, to smell, to be outside waiting for the storm to come.
But I walked to my car. Because, well, my crazy life doesn't allow me the leisure to stand outside in parking lots dancing around like a mad person for as long as I want. My life hollers for me to run here, go there, do this, see them, stop here. So, I rolled the windows down, welcoming the organic warning of rain.
A friend reminded me recently that storms don't last forever. No storm does. Not even a storm that flooded the entire earth. Tonight, thinking of the storms that have rolled through my life and the one soon to be rolling through St. Louis I found hope.
It's strange to me that I so easily welcomed a storm that would bring down more tree limbs, sweep in more gray clouds, and potentially leave people without electricity again. But when it comes to storms in my life, I resist. I roll up the window, bunker down in my bed, and wait.Wouldn't it be great if I could put my face to my storms like I do for rain? If I could delight in my Lord even in a down pour?
There's still hope. I may not be there yet, but I'm thinking with 2 years of tornado weather in my life I'm not the same girl I was when it first began and surely won't be the same when it does eventually end. And I'm confident of this, some day these crazy weather patterns for my life will end.
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