Thursday, June 14, 7:15 a.m.
The storm has turned the highway into a river. White-knuckled and blinded by the pounding rain on my windshield, I want to be anywhere but here. I pray for the rain to stop. This is what fear feels like.
Friday, June 15, 8:15 a.m.
My stagnant little creek bed has turned into a soothing babbling brook. I sit on the makeshift wooden bridge, my feet dangling above the sand and rocks. This is exactly where I want to be. I thank God for the beauty. This is what peace feels like.
I have a million things to do when I walk back up the 35 steps to my house, but all I can do is sit here and wrestle in my mind with the perplexity that it was that crazy scary storm of yesterday that allowed for this tranquility today.
The Sea of Galilee
Maybe the greatest understanding of peace comes only after the pounding rain has spewed its fury.
I wonder how Jesus’ disciples lives would’ve been different if that night long ago on the Sea of Galilee had been a tranquil one. Without the terror in the night, would they have understood Christ’s power over the storm? Can peace really be peace without a deep knowing of fear?
The disciples had the master of the storm and the master of the calm right there with them on the boat. Asleep on a cushion. Yet they didn’t understand it until they saw and heard Jesus rebuke the wind and the waves.
I bet they never forgot that moment when their friend and teacher, the creator of storms and sunshine and of life and of death spoke nature into submission. And I bet they looked back and thought, “He was with us the whole time. We were freaking out, but the master of the storm and the calm was with us the whole time.”
I know I will do myself a great favor and I will better understand how high, how deep and how wide is the love of Christ if I seek Him in the storm instead of just praying the storm away. I need to understand that even if the pounding rain sweeps me off the road, that same water will still enter my stagnant creek bed and turn it into a soothing babbling brook.
A meaningful life is not one where I have successfully prayed away the storms.
A meaningful life is one where I understand that I have the master of the storm and of the calm right here with me on the boat.
