We’ve gone to bed early, exhausted in a week that seems never-ending. A storm is brewing so we close windows and curtains and lie still in the thick air that simmers quietly in anticipation.
As the storm starts in earnest, I lie watching the sun-bright flashes of lightning and wait for a small kitten to come crying for comfort. The cool air that slips through the one open window touches my skin, and I smile. For someone who used to be afraid of thunderstorms, I marvel at my enjoyment now.
Archie still hasn’t found me, so I get up to make sure that he is fine. To my surprise, I find him perched uncertainly on a chair in front of the bedroom window. He is curious, if nothing else, but frightened too. I lower myself to the ground by the chair, resting on my arms on the seat in a wide circle around his tiny frame. He shifts immediately, pressing the length of his body against my chest, facing the window.
He wants to watch the storm. My surprise is genuine. He turns to look up at me, lets out a little chirp in question.
I’m right here, I whisper, and a purr rumbles from his little body in response. And so we watch the storm together, my wee kitten pressed against me for comfort and me whispering quiet assurances in words unknown.
The storm was brilliant and wild. Sheet lightning lit the city. Thunder cracked and roared, rattling windows. Rain raced towards the earth in a desperate freefall. Harsh and violent and beautiful all at once, it was a wonder to behold.
It wasn’t long before I was realizing the overwhelming imagery of it all. Strong protective arms around one so small. A wild storm and a fearful heart seeking protection, while at the same time wanting to understand the violence of something so beautiful… wanting to watch from a place where the promises of comfort and security are sprinkled over me in whispers of Truth.
As we crawled into bed later, I realized that the warm bundle of purring-goodness that was stretched across my chest had opened my eyes to a powerful lesson.
Maybe sometimes my response to the storms of life should be to simply crawl up in Abba’s lap in front of the window and watch… let my Heavenly Father wrap His strong arms around me and whisper, I am right here. Let Me show you what I can do.
The storms always seem bigger than me, but no matter their seeming size or strength, they are never more powerful than the One who keeps me safe.
He will hide me beneath the shelter of His wings…
Linking up this morning with Michelle, over at Graceful: