Through a storm

We spent last week at the beach on the edge of Tropical Storm Barry. And as we watched the Gulf change from calm and easy waves to pounding and crashing surf, I was reminded of some words I wrote early in the spring. When the double red flags were raised into the Florida sunshine and our kids were chased out of the water by the overwhelming rip current, I remembered why it is we have such reverence for storms. Storms can come out of nowhere on days when the sun is still shining right in your eyes. And make you think it’s no big deal. But standing on the edge of the churning ocean, I realized I still have a lot to learn about the power and the pull of a storm.

They say that if the wind is blowing in the right direction, you can smell a storm coming from miles away. And though I am neither a weatherman nor a sea captain, I can tell you that the ability to smell a storm coming does not in any way prepare you for the impact of it making landfall. And if you’ve ever weathered a storm, literally or figuratively, I am sure you agree with me.

My kids have this memory of one particular storm burned in their brains. Possibly because we retell the story every year as the smell of spring begins to blow through our old Georgia pines. It is the story of the March tornado that roared over the top of our house and down our cul de sac. When my boys tell it, they always begin by talking about how loud I screamed that night. They remember me clutching the baby and hollering directions at everyone. And how as we all descended the steep stairs into the basement, their normally level headed mother could not for the life of her remember which wall was the safest.

But, it is the darkness of that night that is burned in my brain. As soon as we made our way down the stairs, we heard a tree pop and crack and then the sound of a million fireworks exploding. And what followed was the most intense darkness I have ever experienced. Screaming, running, slamming, exploding … and then nothing. Nothing at all. It was like having all of your senses stolen from you.

We couldn’t breathe. We couldn’t see. And in the disorienting blackness of it all, I lost my bearings. The world tipped upside down, and we were powerless against what was happening to us. I will never forget how it sucked the air out of me.

They would later tell us that our March tornado never touched down in our neighborhood. But our trees, fences, and roofs told a different story. Thankfully, no one was hurt and our house stood firm. But it left behind in us a reverence for storms; a reverence for events beyond our control.

And I wonder if that’s how the disciples felt that night out on the sea with Jesus. Three of the Gospel writers tell this story of how they got caught in a storm that came up so quickly even if they had smelled it they would have had no time to prepare. Their boat was overtaken by waves, and these fisherman turned disciples couldn’t wrestle that tempest under control.

We’ve all been there, right? Attempting to navigate life when a storm blows in and upturns our boat or takes out all the trees on our street. And in the middle of the pounding rain and crashing waves, we lose a bit of ourselves.

The disciples fought hard against the water pouring into their boat. They tried to push back this force of nature. And I see my own reflection in their actions.

When circumstances rock my boat or pull a curtain of darkness across my eyes, I fight back. I perch on the edge of the shipwreck believing my job is to bring back the light and settle the waves. I have to be a storm stopper.

So I holler directions and try every trick I’ve learned. I say the words and do the things. And often? The storm just keeps on coming.

But I’m supposed to be strong enough to handle this.

I’m sure that’s what the disciples thought that night. Fisherman, fish. They’d fished through storms before. It was their job. Keep. Fishing. But this one was different. Their skills did them no good. Nothing worked.

So what did they do? And what are we to do when the night is so dark we cannot see, or when every skill we’ve ever learned proves useless against the pounding of this life? What do we do?

Well, the disciples remembered who was with them. Jesus was in the back of the storm-ravaged boat, sleeping. And they wasted no time in waking him up. “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown? Don’t you see it all going wrong? Don’t you care?”

They remembered they weren’t out in the boat alone.

And I love to imagine Jesus as he awoke to all of this chaos. Perhaps he slowly took in the face of each terrified man in that boat and held every gaze long enough for them to catch their breath at what they saw reflected in their Savior’s eyes. And then. “He got up and rebuked the storm and the wind and the waves were silent” (Luke 8:24).

“Who is this man that even the winds and the water obey him?” I wonder if the words of the prophet Isaiah echoed in the backs of the disciples’ minds as Jesus halted that deluge. “When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty you will not drown…” Life breathed into those words. Jesus. With them in the storm.

You see, here’s what I’m learning about enduring darkness and downpours. I’m learning to quit believing my job is to be the calmer of the waves or the maker of the light.

I’m learning to simply turn and grab ahold of the Master.

And then even if the storm doesn’t stop raging around me, even if the darkness persists, I hold on. I fix my eyes on him the author and perfecter of my faith. I hold on because I know that even if he doesn’t calm the storms, when I go through deep waters, He will be with me.

My faith isn’t in my ability to weather the storm well. My faith isn’t in my ability to smell it coming and prepare for the worst. My faith is in the one who stands beside me as rain pours down and the darkness steals my senses. My faith is in him whose voice I can barely hear over the raging sea. “I’ve got you. Just hold on to me.”

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed” (Deuteronomy 31:8).