In the Midst of the Storm

Ever since I was little, I've always been fascinated with storms. My mom used to sit on the doorstep, placing me in her lap, and we'd listen to the beat of the rain hitting the Earth. Even now, twenty-two, graduate student, and two states away from home, I still find myself opening the door and walking outside to find a dry spot to just sit, watch, and listen. 

Needless to say, storms don't scare me. Every time there was a tornado warning, my dad would put in the movie Twister - in some twisted sort of irony- and we would all gather on the couch while my mom watched the skies. When the tornadoes hit Alabama in 2011, we stood outside and watched one, two, three funnels circling mere miles away. This is usually the part where my friends give me the crazy looks. I can feel the judgement now. 

Yeah, storms don't scare me. 

In fact, when reading about how Jesus calmed the storm, I always rolled my eyes at the disciples. Yeah, I bet the storm was scary and I'm sure the boat wasn't super fancy or anything, but seriously? They had just watched him heal diseases and cast out demons and they're afraid of a storm? You're sitting in the boat with the Son of God! Man up. 

But, the truth is it was easy to say those things when I was just sitting outside, under the cover of my own front porch and watching the storm wreck havoc miles away. It was easy when the disciples were just floating along across the lake, talking about all the miraculous signs they had seen. Yet, when the thunder clouds rolled in, the waves roared and the lightening struck, they forgot everything. And I finally understand why. 

When the storm hits, guns blazing, you forget who's in the boat with you. 

This year, the storm hit hard. I had just graduated college and I was going to move six hours away from home where I didn't know a single soul. Instead of getting a job over the summer, I decided to stay home and help take care of my family. One family member was terminally ill, two others were fighting disease, and the rest of us were just trying to hold each other together. The storm of sickness is particularly hard because it's completely out of your control. And we, as humans, hate being helpless. We want to fix the ones we love. We want to make things better. We want to take measures into our own hands and try to control the circumstances around us. 

This storm did scare me. 

I have to admire the disciples for one thing. At least they called out for help. At least they recognized that Jesus could calm the storm if he wanted to. They may have been terrified at first, but they realized who else was in the boat very quickly.

The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, "Lord, save us! We're going to drown!" Matthew 8:25

I not only forgot Who was in the boat, I forgot someone else was in the boat period. My eyes only saw the lightening crash blindingly, barely missing the wood railing. The water rose and curled hundreds of feet above my head, threatening to consume me. The thunder roared in my ears and the winds pulled at my quivering form, ready to push me over the edge. 

I didn't see the hand reaching out for mine. The hand that belongs to the one who can walk on water, who can't be consumed by it (Matthew 14:22-33). The hand that belongs to the light of the world, who can't be blinded by mere lightening (John 8:12). The hand that belongs to the cornerstone, the rock of our salvation, who can't be moved by the wind (Ephesians 2:20, Psalm 18:2). 

The hand that may choose not to calm the storm, but the one who will guide you through it. The hand that was pierced in his own storm, the greatest one the world has ever known, so that he can be right next to you, in the boat, for eternity (Isaiah 53:5). 

The hand of Jesus Christ. 

I didn't see it. Instead, I tried to brave it by myself. But this storm was too strong for me and I found myself drowning in it. I was drowning in depression, withdrawing into myself, and lashing out on those closest to me, those I loved the most. 

Sometimes I wish God would pull a human dad move. You know when you're a kid and you're just making a mess all around you and your dad comes up, grabs you forcefully by the hand, and pulls you away? You probably threw a tantrum and got angry about it, but you couldn't see the bigger picture. You couldn't see the mess you were making or the danger you were about to stroll into. He could and he yanked you away. 

I think God does do that on occasion. How else can you explain Jonah?

Hey, you need to go to Nineveh. 

Um, no thank you. 

That's where you should be. 

Um, nope.

Okay. *Insert giant fish* 

I think I'd rather be pulled away by the hand than swallowed whole, but whatever works. 

Now there have been times in my life where I was doing something wrong and he has pulled me away by the hand, kicking and screaming. But, at least for me, it's more the exception than the rule. I'm stubborn and hard headed and chances are if I get dragged away, I'm going to fight it until I get back to where I was. God knows that. So instead, he constantly knocks on my heart and whispers in my ear. He lets me try to take control of the storm and do it without his help. He lets me make my messes. 

I'm right here. Just take my hand.

No, I can do this.

You don't have to do this alone. 

I got this. I don't need you. 

You weren't meant to bear this. You're hurting yourself. 

I'm fine. 

No, you're not.

He lets me use up my own strength until I'm spiritually, emotionally and physically exhausted. Until I'm cold from the constant battering of the waves and my body is aching from trying to stand against the wind. Until I'm brought to my knees from trying to carry the burden of the storm, the burden of the sickness, the burden of death, the burden of torn relationships, the burden of moving away from everything I know - the burden of the unknown. And then I do what everyone does when they've fallen down. 

I look up. 

He reaches down. "Cassidy, let it go."

I see his hand.  "I can't do this anymore." 

"I know beloved. Take my hand." 

"I've fallen too far down. I can't reach you."

And he bends down, his hand right in front of my face. And I see the holes there. "You are never too far down for me to pick you up."  

So I do what I should have done in the very beginning.

I reach out and take His hand.