Monday, October 18, 2004

Sometimes He Calms the Storm

And other times He calms His child. So the song says. I picture myself sometimes in the eye of the storm. All is calm at the heart. The wind whips wildly around, but I am safe. God is with me, and I am with Him. It is here I should rest, but like a moth drawn to the flame, I seem to thrive on chaos. I veer too close to the edge and am whipped back into the hurricane, the debris, and the destruction. Tossed to and fro, battered by flying bits of wreckage, I realize (again) my mistake. How is it that the whirling dervishes of my life look so attractive from a distance? I have to attribute it to the foolishness rife within me. I am prone to sin as the sparks fly upward. Fortunately, God remembers this, knows that I am fashioned from dust. His patience with me is great; He is longsuffering. Once again, He drags me from the devastation. I have new scars to add to the ones from previous ventures into annihilation. Why does He continue with me? I'm broken, warped, bent beyond repair as I see it. He, however, sees me as I could be, as I am in Christ. He finds in me more than I find in myself, thus He rescues me again and again from hopelessness, despair and death. He tells me, as He told the church in Smyrna "I know your pain and poverty--constant pain and dire poverty--but you are rich." If I look through His eyes, I will see the wealth. If I quiet my heart, I will hear His voice in the midst of the storm. He doesn't promise to take the storm away; in all likelihood it will get worse. He does, however, promise to rescue me from it and hold me safe in the midst. Will I believe it, or will I wander again into harm's way? I cannot speak for every day, but just for today, I will sit in the eye of the storm, embracing the quiet, praying it will imbue my soul and change me. May I long for the shelter and not the squall.


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