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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

faith & spirituality

When the storms come

October 29, 2012

Rain, wind, flood. Maybe snow. It’s all in the forecast for our county this week.

It’s easy to dwell on the weather when you see the rain come down outside your window and the trees begin to sway. When weather news pre-empts anything else on TV.

I haven’t been this prepared for something since our son’s birth almost three years ago. I have a bag packed, just in case. We emptied our basement of anything that would be ruined if wet. I’ve bottled some water. Packed a bag of canned goods and can openers. Filled my bathtub with water. Put fresh batteries in our radio. Gathered flashlights.

And now I wait. For my husband to get home from work (he got called in early to serve lunch to the retirement village residents; I’m glad he won’t be out in the elements tonight). Fo r the power to go out. For the winds to pick up. For the storm to rage. For whatever may come in the next 24 hours.

I feel overdramatic at times. Like a fool. Or crazy. But when the experts tell you it’s no joke. That the storm is historic. It’s not foolish to be ready.

God told Noah a storm was coming, and he built a boat. He looked like a fool to his neighbors, but he was prepared when the storm came. (I’m not saying this is a God-ordained storm.) I’ve been seeing in the Bible how God speaks to His people in the storm. It says that in Job. Jesus slept through a storm while his disciples feared for their lives. “Don’t you care that we might drown, Jesus?” He rebuked the wind and waves and asked if they had little faith.

Jesus cares about his people in the storm.

I’m dwelling on these words, instead.

But now, God’s Message,
the God who made you in the first place, Jacob,
the One who got you started, Israel:
“Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you.
I’ve called your name. You’re mine.
When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.
When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.
When you’re between a rock and a hard place,
it won’t be a dead end—
Because I am God, your personal God,
The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
I paid a huge price for you:
all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!
That’s how much you mean to me!
That’s how much I love you!
I’d sell off the whole world to get you back,
trade the creation just for you.

We sent the kids to Illinois with their grandparents. They arrived safely in the early morning hours today and are happily playing and visiting family this week. I feel a bit like the Pevensie parents in C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, who sent their children to the country to avoid the London bombings. Maybe our kids will find Narnia while they’re away.

In the meantime, we wait. And pray. And hope that our house holds the winds and waters at bay.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality Tagged With: emergency preparedness, Hurrican Sandy, Narnia, Noah, storms, The great flood, weather

I hate everything about this

October 25, 2012

I’m venting. Be forewarned. Because I’m a writer I tend to process with words and sometimes those words aren’t pretty. I promise I’m not trying to bring you down with me. I just need to let off some steam.

Because I REALLY hate what we’re going through right now.

I hate that I’m capable of a raging outbursts that my kids think are funny but which serve no great purpose for me except to blow off everything that’s been boiling inside.

I hate that my parents might find me curled up in the fetal position when they get here later tonight because the house is messy, the kids won’t listen and I don’t have enough left in me to care what anyone thinks.

I hate that going to the grocery store stresses me out and I used to enjoy it.

I hate that when a woman in front of me is one bad decision away from not being able to buy her food, instead of compassion for her situation I think, “Oh, God, please don’t let that ever be me.”

I hate that I yell at my kids for stupid stuff like spilling a small amount of milk while trying to be independent and pour themselves a glass. Have I become the sort of person who values less than a half a cup of milk more than my child’s intentions and feelings?

I hate that I’m not sleeping well at night. And I’m drinking too much coffee. And I’m escaping into novels so I don’t have to deal with reality for a few hours.

I hate that I can’t see how much I’m blessed because all I can think about is what I don’t have.

I hate that I pout when the pizza crust doesn’t turn out like I like it and that I’m more concerned with how my food tastes than being grateful that I have food to eat.

I hate that a small thing–like not being able to find my husband’s social security card the day he starts a new job–escalates into a big thing because my stress level is off the charts.

I hate that I want to throw all our stuff into the front yard with a big “FREE” sign and start over.

I hate that I sometimes regret having kids because it’s hard and I wonder if it’s worth it and then there’s the people I know who struggle to get pregnant or can’t have kids and I’m sickened by my selfishness.

I hate that I’m full of so much hate toward my circumstances, and even God sometimes, and I wonder if I really believe His promises or if He is my God only when times are good.

I hate that I can’t live in this moment and learn from it, that I just want to escape it.

And most of all, I hate that the truth hurts and yet it is still truth.

Truth like this from a Donald Miller talk my husband was listening to on a podcast: A good story contains lots and lots of conflict. My life is too painful to be meaningless.

And this, from Psalm 38:

Your hand presses hard upon me.

O Lord, You know all my desires, and my sighing is not hidden from you.

My strength has failed me.

In You, O Lord, have I fixed my hope; you will answer me, O Lord my God.

And these words from Psalm 37 that overtake my hate and my doubt yet still I wrestle with them:

Put your trust in the Lord and do good.

Dwell in the land and feed on its riches.

Take delight in the Lord and he shall give you your heart’s desire.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.

I might hate this, but I can’t escape it, and I can’t say what I’ll look like on the other side. Melted, refined, broken. Everything of value–gold, silver, diamonds–passes through some kind of testing and the end result is more beautiful than the start.

This, this, is my hope in the pressing times. That like a grape, crushed and squeezed and left to sit, my life will become something sweet and intoxicating. Like a caterpillar that dies to its former life of crawling on the ground and becomes something wholly new that soars.

I do not want this yet I must embrace it.

And today I will celebrate that even in the pain, I am alive.

That help is literally on the way. (My parents are coming for the weekend.)

That my husband is taking me to breakfast in the morning, and maybe to a movie this weekend. (Because generous friends have given us money to use “for fun.”)

That my kids will fall asleep tonight and all the stress of the day will evaporate.

That there is a God in heaven who hears and sees and that our lives will, in some small way, reveal Him to others.

That what I see and feel and hear are not all there is to life.

That God is always up to something.

And I am not in control.

And sometimes I just need the comfort of words.

“My flesh and my heart may fail,  but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

Filed Under: faith & spirituality Tagged With: depression, handling stress, hate, life's struggles, love, pain, psalms, reasons for hope, selfishness, stress, suffering, testing, truth

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