On Tempests and Trials

Reader,
I am so glad you’re here.
I have something to tell you. Come, sit. Lean in close, and listen hard.
He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

i. The Bad

They never tell you why hurricanes are good. They only ever tell you why hurricanes are bad. Destructive winds, tearing the roof off of that childhood home you loved so hard, whipping the insides until you don’t even know what it looked like to begin. Immense flooding, the kind that soaks into your bones and seeps into your soul, the kind that fills you up, burning, water churning, lungs screaming for just a moment of relief. And your favorite stuffed animal on the shelf of your purple painted room? The book your dad used to read to you every night before bed? I hate to be the one to tell you, but they’re gone now, swept away, torn apart. Damaged goods. That’s what we become in a hurricane. This, see, is what the world wants us to know: destruction. damage. hurt. pain. Swallowed whole by a torrential rain, swept into floods too deep to swim out on our own, churned down debris-ridden rapids, terrified to hit our heads, terrified of the murky dark, terrified to stop. But it doesn’t stop. The rain keeps pounding, the water keeps rising till it’s truly all you can think, all you can know, all you’ve ever known. That's what it is.

Why do bad things happen to good people? It's all bad. At least, that’s what the world wants us to know.

ii. The Good

Yet they still never tell you why the hurricanes are good. No one ever talks about the things that come from a raging hurricane, from a storm so monstrous, so massive, so monumental. Because here’s the thing. Hurricanes don’t hit everyone the same. To some, they are but rain, a sprinkling of water, a light passing mist. To others, they are storms, they are lightning strikes and thunder claps and flashes across a darkened sky. But to some, to the ones that live in the category fives, hurricanes are hurricanes, and we already know what the world tells us of those. But what they don’t tell you is that these people, in these places, are the ones who know how to fight. How to rebuild. How to stand strong, unmovable even when the wind howls and the rain hammers and thunder roars louder than the voices in their heads screaming run! But child, I tell you, there is this good. There is a perfect endurance, a perfect maturity, a perfect response, a perfect story hidden in the rolling clouds. There is resilience, there is joy, there is strength in the challenge, the hardship, the fight.

iii. The Peace

But despite the good, hurricanes are heavy. They demand to be met, they demand to be seen. And the floods still sweep their path clean through and the rapids still twist and churn around you, and the rain is a wall that you cannot break, but the Lord your God is there as you shake. He holds you. He has you. For in the midst of the darkness, there is light, and the light is good. In the midst of chaos, there is stillness, and the stillness is good. In the midst of rage, there is peace, and the peace, the peace is good. A rope will be thrown to you, drowning in the flood. One more drop, and the rapids are done, a slow, soft river. The storm will pass, and the rain will be perfect for dancing. You of little faith, why did you doubt? The world doesn’t want you to know, but I’m here to tell you this secret. They never tell you why hurricanes are good. They never tell you that trials are good.