The Storm
Can someone tell me why the ghosts of long dead fears come back to haunt the new lives of those they once tortured? Why in the middle of a beautiful sunny day must the storm clouds begin to billow? With a flash of lightening and a roll of thunder the tears begin to fall from the skies. And the innocent child who was blissfully collecting wildflowers is now running terrified for some shelter.
The clouds appeared on the horizon a week and a half ago, and the storm broke in all its ferocity yesterday afternoon. The rains fell for five and a half hours as the winds fiercely bit, grabbed, and clawed at the heart of that child. She shut her eyes from the illuminating lightening, and held her ears to try and block the sound of the incessant thunder while she continued to run, breathless, desperately seeking shelter - which, after those five and a half hours, was found by running into the arms of sleep.
And as the skies began to lighten the next morning, the calm once more returned. The child is reluctant to venture outdoors, still badly shaken from the torrent she was caught in last night. But perhaps she only needs a few days spent in her loving Papa's arms to restore her innocent hopes to their original glory. His rest is already soothing her weary soul; His compassion is already healing her wounds, and His voice is already calming her spirit. ...And she knows that His love is all she needs to sustain her for the rest of her days.
~January 15, 2000