Sunday Sabbath  July 24 2016    AFTER THE STORM

Most of my readers live outside the state of Wisconsin.  Those of you who live in Wisconsin’s environment may have experienced how wicked a Wisconsin storm can be.  And if you live in a wooded area you may have familiarity with the sounds of such a storm.  The roar, of up to 75 mile per hour winds, creates a deafening noise.  The reverberation of trees knocking against each other with thousands upon thousands of leaves whipping against one another creates a cacophony that crescendos with the nuances of the air-stream.  It’s as if some ancient language is trying to be heard. 

The visual spectacle of such a scene in the darkened midday sky creates a sinister world depicting anger and loss to come.  How trees can withstand the force of something unseen, yet delivered with such a vengeance is beyond me.  And throw into the mix of all the tumult, the solid mass of water that is poured out on the land from the blacked sky above.  Add the ingredients of the booming sounds of thunder, the spectacle of bolts of lightning, and you have the perfect Wisconsin Storm.

Then, add the fact that every street in your immediate neighborhood slopes toward your property and the rain water gathers in momentum as it flows downhill to your driveway, down the side of your house, and to the runoff area out back.  It is like a flash flood river, in miniature, yet deep enough and fast enough that you would not want to be caught walking in it.  I believe it could undermine the balance of anyone caught unaware.

And when morning comes, the wind abates, the clacking and howling of rustling trees now in quiet repose, debris littering the lawns and flower beds, and sodden flowers bowing low, the sound of absolute silence greets you.  Simple quiet peace offers itself as a gift, as if to say, “Sorry for the ruckus yesterday and last night.”  And many trees are down in the area and you are grateful that yours are intact.  But some trees, no matter how resilient and strong, now lie prostrate like dead soldiers on the battle field.

 If you can imagine all that I described as happening to you, then you know how I felt this morning.  I actually morn the trees that lost their lives in the mêlée of yesterday’s storm as well as the storm two days prior.  I view trees as being strong, vital, and giving.  It saddens me when a storm writes their death.  And then I notice the most exquisite flower, bowed low on its stem, fully opened, but not bruised, damaged or torn.  The most fragile, delicate creation in the yard, bending beneath the unrelenting wind and the weight of water, has not been scathed one iota by all it experienced.  I am amazed at how it weathered the storm.

Perhaps it was the flower’s inclination to bow before its almighty creator and not fight the forces that surrounded it.  Perhaps when forces rage around us, of which we have no control, our best choice would be to just lay low, bow before almighty God, and surrender to what His will is for our lives.  Maybe we would then survive the turmoil and come out as the victor.

AND AFTER THE STORM

By Kathleen Martens

July 24, 2016

A simple flower

Bowing low,

Becomes the victor

In after-storm glow.

No bruise or tear

Upon its petals,

Amidst the chaos

Resistant as metal.

Delicate blossom

Its aroma lends,

Through all the commotion

Without scratch or rend.

I hope to be

Just like that flower.

No matter the storm

I refuse to be dour.

I will seek

God’s mighty grace,

And after the storm

He will lift my face.

And God’s fragrance

Becomes my shield.

I become more like Him,

Because I yield.

Thank You God for the bountiful rain we received this week.

Thank You Lord for the heat of Your Sunshine.

Thank You for such a wonderful message at church today.

Thank You for giving me a reminder of the promise I must fulfill.

Thank You for my energy and strength.

Thank You for friends.

Thank You for pumpkin seeds.

GOOD NIGHT AND GOD BLESS YOU!