The Storm And The Sun
When the rain begins I leave my Philosophy reading behind with a squeal, run down the twisting Music Department hallways, and stand, breathless, watching the downpour from just inside the department's glass doors. Outside, the world is being washed clean by the deluge. The deep black pavement of the parking lot is covered in a sheen of water. I can see currents forming on top of it. Raindrops bounce and slide down the sides of the glass enclosure surrounding me, and I am lost remembering...
I used to watch the river currents bending and curving in the rain outside my window. During most rainstorms, I was out in the river with everyone else who had any sense, feeling the currents and rain up close. Swimming in a rainstorm was wet, cold, and electrifying. The world was grey, black, and fierce, hitting us with full force from all directions. Everything became the ever present now: this feeling of water smashing into your face, the giggle you let out when thunder peals above you, and the splash of porpoises jumping. I can still feel that moment of cresting a wave and hear myself and my friends letting out a cheer of "AAAAHHH!" before plunging head first back into the water.
All of this comes to me as I stand here in this entryway, this halfway point between my remembering and all the work that awaits me. There is so much to do, so much to finish, and so many hours devoted to mental aerobics and theoretical puzzles. Exhaustion pounces often before my morning tea is finished. The people around me are hurting and struggling. Some days I feel lonely. Other days I can not imagine why any one would want to spend time with people. Friends that I love have to make hard decisions. Miles away in all directions, my family asks for prayer and support. Continents away, my brothers and sisters in the faith are fighting persecution. I hate sin, and I hate what it does to my friends, to me, and to the world. It is all a storm, I think, all a raging, awful deluge in which I thrash and fight to stay afloat.
What happened, I wonder? Wasn't I the girl who loved storms, who ached for a challenge? Wasn't I the girl who ran out in the rain on her own and swore she would never stop wanting to live life fully and passionately? Did I not promise myself and God that no matter how big the waves grew, I would keep on paddling? I think of that cleansing rain that washed all the cares away and embued me with exuberance, even while my arms ached. What happened?
I am forgetting about God. I am forgetting about how, even when the rain and waves were throwing me about in breathless exhilaration, I knew the sun would shine again. Sometimes, at the top of a wave, I caught a glimpse of it glimmering through a keyhole in the looming, grey clouds. It was always there, ready to make the world dry and green again. Remembering its warmth made me unafraid to brave the storm.
Those storms I played in as a child, though, were nothing in comparison to what I now face as a young adult. Helping my friends deal with their private battles, and being open and honest about my own problems and sin is not ever fun or exhilarating. I don't cheer in wild delight while trying to stay awake in class, putting in long hours at the library, or holding a crying friend. I am still afraid, still feel lonely, and am still just a little girl struggling into womanhood. But standing here between these glass doors, caught between what was and what I must do, I look out on the rain and I am glad. God is so good to go through this storm with me, to be both behind, before, and beside me. Truly, in His presence is life everlasting. I remember His truth, I see it all around me, even as these dark currents of worry curve and bend, and I pray:
I used to watch the river currents bending and curving in the rain outside my window. During most rainstorms, I was out in the river with everyone else who had any sense, feeling the currents and rain up close. Swimming in a rainstorm was wet, cold, and electrifying. The world was grey, black, and fierce, hitting us with full force from all directions. Everything became the ever present now: this feeling of water smashing into your face, the giggle you let out when thunder peals above you, and the splash of porpoises jumping. I can still feel that moment of cresting a wave and hear myself and my friends letting out a cheer of "AAAAHHH!" before plunging head first back into the water.
All of this comes to me as I stand here in this entryway, this halfway point between my remembering and all the work that awaits me. There is so much to do, so much to finish, and so many hours devoted to mental aerobics and theoretical puzzles. Exhaustion pounces often before my morning tea is finished. The people around me are hurting and struggling. Some days I feel lonely. Other days I can not imagine why any one would want to spend time with people. Friends that I love have to make hard decisions. Miles away in all directions, my family asks for prayer and support. Continents away, my brothers and sisters in the faith are fighting persecution. I hate sin, and I hate what it does to my friends, to me, and to the world. It is all a storm, I think, all a raging, awful deluge in which I thrash and fight to stay afloat.
What happened, I wonder? Wasn't I the girl who loved storms, who ached for a challenge? Wasn't I the girl who ran out in the rain on her own and swore she would never stop wanting to live life fully and passionately? Did I not promise myself and God that no matter how big the waves grew, I would keep on paddling? I think of that cleansing rain that washed all the cares away and embued me with exuberance, even while my arms ached. What happened?
I am forgetting about God. I am forgetting about how, even when the rain and waves were throwing me about in breathless exhilaration, I knew the sun would shine again. Sometimes, at the top of a wave, I caught a glimpse of it glimmering through a keyhole in the looming, grey clouds. It was always there, ready to make the world dry and green again. Remembering its warmth made me unafraid to brave the storm.
Those storms I played in as a child, though, were nothing in comparison to what I now face as a young adult. Helping my friends deal with their private battles, and being open and honest about my own problems and sin is not ever fun or exhilarating. I don't cheer in wild delight while trying to stay awake in class, putting in long hours at the library, or holding a crying friend. I am still afraid, still feel lonely, and am still just a little girl struggling into womanhood. But standing here between these glass doors, caught between what was and what I must do, I look out on the rain and I am glad. God is so good to go through this storm with me, to be both behind, before, and beside me. Truly, in His presence is life everlasting. I remember His truth, I see it all around me, even as these dark currents of worry curve and bend, and I pray:
I am guilty, but pardoned,
lost, but saved,
wandering, but found,
sinning, but cleansed.
Give me perpetual broken-heartedness,
Keep me always clinging to Your cross,
Flood me every moment with descending grace.
Here in this storm, let me see Your face.
-Valley of Vision, paraphrase-
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