I read this blog post tonight and, oh, did my heart beat with the rhythm of every single written word.
I'm standing in the wasteland of our own storm. We are certainly uprooted and our energy is gone. Our reserves have been depleted and we are scrambling to survive.
She says, "I sit in a quiet so wide it echos."
The sound of silence is trembling in my soul. I am so caught in this very still, very distinct space. It's not empty space. It's not even lonely space. It's just still. It's as if the power has gone out and we are suddenly so aware of the racket electricity makes all of the time. In the absence of something that lies under the surface, a current we have grown accustomed to, I am feeling the stirring of something deep and muscular and firm. Silence. Quiet.
Not empty. Not helpless. Not forgotten.
My storm is different from her's. My storm is here in my home, with my children and my husband. My storm is in the unknown corners of my heart. My storm has spread itself out over years and miles and relationships. My storm has swirled around pregnancies and births and marriage classes and churches and people. I have been rocked. I have hidden out. I have been soaked. I have been floored. And I have waited.
It seems like the night Daisy was stung my storm exploded. Everything reached a terrifying height. Trees were ripped out of the ground, their roots exposed and trembling. Clouds crashed in over me and a wall of wind and rain and horror stole my breath and left me shaking and cold.
Where I should have been destroyed, I was instead bolstered. Jesus gripped my shoulders, holding me open and free. I should have crumbled, but the weight of the God of galaxies and oceans and looming mountains stood strong and unshakable behind me. As hard as the storm pushed it could never make him budge. Not even slightly. Not for the tiniest of seconds.
"The power that charges the dark is the grace of family."
The storm brought such sorrow. Darkness wrapped itself around us, icy and unfeeling. But we stood with our backs warmed by the heat of life. The hum of creation, charged with energy and hope and mercy, kept us centered and looking to Jesus the way Daisy was looking to us.
We discovered family. Strangers entered our hearts and filled us with a sense of belonging.
And, little by little, the power is coming back on. There is movement. We are crawling towards more freedom. Hope is sprouting from the torn ground. Mercy is rising like the sun.
My heart and my mouth can't stop whispering his name. It rests on the tip of my tongue and spills out without even a thought.