I love a good storm. When we lived on Florida's Gulf coast, watching the summer storms roll in was one of my favorite ways to pass the time. I now find myself landlocked in the Midwest yet again, and while nothing compares to a good Florida sky in turmoil, I'm surprised that I can find beauty in the swirling gray Ohio ceiling I once despised.
Today the sky looks like it's been frosted with marshmallow fluff. The clouds have depth, though, and I get the feeling that if I could peel them back, I'd find another layer of darker, more sinister clouds lurking behind. It seems to be a good metaphor for my life of late - an exterior shell of shapeless gray, hiding tumultuous tiers of anger and pain underneath.
And oh! am I angry. I have hit a breaking point of sorts. I am so tired of pouring my heart out to God, and waiting for Him to say something ... anything ... ANYthing. But He seems to be as silent as the clouds above, and every bit as far from my reach. WHY doesn't He answer me? WHY doesn't He allow us to have a baby? WHY does He touch the lives of my friends with such wonderful blessings, and yet forget about me?
I'm wrestling with the ageless question: "Is God good?" I know the party line. I can even quote it back to you, complete with Scripture references and pithy little sayings.
Sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He calms me...momentary, light affliction...God is more concerned with my holiness than my happiness...He keeps His promises: I will never leave you nor forsake you...I know the plans I have for you...plans for a hope and a future...
Hope? The only thing I know about hope at the moment is that it's a big precursor for a letdown. It's the part of the roller coaster where you've just gone over the top of the first hill, and everything is in slow motion. For just a nanosecond, you hang suspended in mid-air, defiant against gravity's greedy grasp. And then, you fall. And fall. And fall. All the while picking up speed, until you think you're going to go careening off the track in a spectacular crash. Once you've resigned yourself to the inevitable, the car takes a sharp turn and gives you whiplash. Shell-shocked, you start to climb the second hill, and do it all over again. That's hope.
I get the feeling that the storms in today's weather forecast are nothing in comparison to the storms raging in my heart...
16 hours ago