When You Get Caught in a Storm
I’m clearing away breakfast dishes when he tells me I better hurry.
He’s clicking through screens. “Radar shows the rain is almost here. If we leave now, we can get there before it blows in.”
The sky opens its mouth, and I hear it groaning — a gutteral churning that will lead a dark march of clouds toward the farm.
I hurry, but I still must dry my hair, and I have yet to find the girls’ Sunday shoes. I ask my husband — the weather-watcher — if he’d stir the casserole dish one last time before we head out the door for worship and potluck.
I race for the bathroom and the blowdryer for a quick dry, but there’s no time for a curling iron. The girls find their shoes, and we all buckle in. I set a white casserole dish at my feet, and we drive west.
The weather-watching farmer says it’s probably too late. We’re only a mile from our country church, but the storm is even closer.
He knows how fast clouds can move, and he knows when the rain will come, because this is what farmers do: They track the skies. The work of their hands, here on Earth, is tied to the work of God, who is the father of rain.
It has been weeks and weeks since rain fell here. The ground is parched, the crops are thirsty, and we’ve been asking God to tip over the water jars of the heavens.
The tipping happens when we are one-half mile from the church doors. It comes in a torrent, sheet upon sheet of rain from a weeping sky.
“Sorry.” I say this one word because we are too late to beat the storm, but really, no one is complaining. How could we? And why? That we will get a little wet in a rainshower? That we might not come through it looking great, or even good?
And what if we could walk through life’s storms, knowing we’re going to get wet and maybe even dirty, but that storms carry grace on even the darkest clouds?
What if I realized that life isn’t about me?
He tells us he’ll park near the kitchen door, and we all need to make a run for it. On the count of three, we open our doors. The girls are squealing and running straight through puddles. I can’t run. I’m carrying a casserole dish in my arms, and the rain beats on the tinfoil top like a cymbal.
I step across the threshhold into the kitchen, where the women are gathered around 9-by-13 pans and glass salad bowls. I stand on the rug, and I am a dripping sponge needing wrung dry, and the room howls with laughter, for it looks like I took a shower with all my clothes on. (I tell them how I’d just blown-dry this hair five minutes ago.)
I’m a bit of a mess, and someone hands me a dish towel. I walk into the sanctuary, then slip into the front pew beside my family. We are wet, dripping from skirt hems and brown locks. And we are this: A family drenched in rain, drenched in grace.
***
I do not understand the laws of the heavens. I do not know the ways of a sovereign and holy God. I don’t know the answers, but I know the One who does. So I join in the prayers for all who cry out for mercy as creation groans.
Are you looking for a little relief today, a little assurance, or maybe a promise that God is near as the storm blows through … or as the drought persists? May I suggest:
A devotional: The Rev. Mark D. Roberts writes about the Groaning of Creation. “When hurricanes devastate coastal cities or earthquakes destroy hospitals and schools, we witness the groaning of the natural world. We also long for the day when the brokenness of this world will be mended.”
A promise: Job 38 reminds us that God is sovereign. He has all the forces of nature at His command.
A prayer: Gordon Atkinson, in drought-striken Texas, reminds us that even our planet is alive and has its own needs. Gordon’s essay over here at TheHighCalling.org dramatically changed the way I looked at our weather patterns. “Plates must shift, meaning earthquakes and tsunamis happen. … Jesus said that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. I take that to mean that drought happens to the just and the unjust as well.”
A story: Ann Voskamp — and her Farmer — find words that I can only grope for. Find her story here.
A song: I’m praying for this, for all of us, no matter where we live, or what we face.
Linking up today with Michelle DeRusha’s “Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday” series…
Oh, how I love this one, Jennifer. Such a gift you have, such a gift you are. Hope you’ve dried off nicely by now. :>)
I think God us trying to teach me a little sonething about grace…it seems to be popping up a lot lately. In sermons, in blog posts, and in scripture. Thank you for always being an encouraging light to me, sweet Jennifer.
We’re drenched in His grace… soaked and dripping. Oh how we need that healing rain. I loved your post.
Drenched with grace.
I wish I had thought to think this way when I was at a funeral on Saturday. I wish I had looked up, really looked into His eyes, instead of boring holes into the pew in front of me because of my own confusion and anger.
Every cloud…delivers grace.
I looked up that Job verse. (sigh)
Job 38 rocks my world. God is so big. SO big.
Thank you so much for sharing this, Jennifer, I really need it today!
And what if we could walk through life’s storms, knowing we’re going to get wet and maybe even dirty, but that storms carry grace on even the darkest clouds?
Thank you for this. Such a beautiful reminder of the grace of God. If only we could all remember this in the stormy seasons of our lives.
I wonder what it says about my faith, my trust in Him, when I try to duck the storms.
so much to love here.
Last time it rained, I had to remind myself that I prayed for the rain–and the lack of electricity was part of the blessing. We put up 2000 square bales today. Hay off the ground = time to pray.
Lovely post: sometimes I need to be reminded that I have been drenched by his grace because the storms come often. Thank you so much.
I’m a bit of a mess myself and need daily to be drenched in grace. Irene has stolen power and internet from me for a few days, so I’ve missed your lovely words. Happy to hear you got some rain.
… And are you all okay, Nancy? Praying right now that you are well. Much love to you as you and your community get life back in order.
beautiful picture of God and His might and power. even when we are drenched, He is waiting with a big fluffy towel to dry us off!
Very cool, Beth. 🙂 I love the way that fluffy towel feels. 🙂
Just loved reading this to start my day off. Beautiful.
Thanks for sharing Jennifer…praying for mercy for all affected by the storm…I was encouraged by your reminder that God’s grace is with us in our storms… I saw that today except my storm was of the internal kind today.
Thanks for visiting my blog.