10 January 2015

rain clouds & thunder

I was flying to Kauai, for a mental health break. Flight paid for by colleague-friends who recognized I needed some much needed breathing space before returning to my home and work overseas. We took off from Portland, the rain and the muck. And it was really coming down.

Thunder, rain, lightening... all things I don’t really mind if I’m warm, safe, and dry. In fact, I have come to truly respect and appreciate  powerful thunderstorm. But I don’t like flying through them… not so much. Because they always mean something scary: turbulence.

Now, turbulence while flying is normal. And as much as I’ve flown in my life, it is something that isn’t really all that bad anymore. I’m more likely to die in a car accident or crossing the street. But ever since a flight from Philippines to Thailand, and a very scary swing and drop turbulence moment… which forever has imprinted itself on my stomach in particular… I’m not as big a fan as I used to be. Severe turbulence these days can bring me sweaty palms, shortness of breath, and a pounding heart.

But this day… I was so overwhelmed and exhausted… it didn’t so much matter anymore. It had been a whirlwind trip to the States, home, working, and teaching at various organizational events. Things were stressful in both my personal and public life, filled with tension and stress. So Hawaii had been the answer and solution to my needing a few days … just … away.

As we started to ascend, the wind and rain and thunder and lightening pummeled us. I stared out the window, in awe of what we were courageously, stubbornly attempting… to ascend and soar in the midst of this crazy weather. The turbulence, even taking off, caused us to shimmy back and forth on the runway as we lifted off the ground. I was listening to Tenth Avenue North’s album “the Struggle” and “Worn” on my iPod again and again, repeated.

The storm, as we climbed, actually became worst. I could hardly see out my window, as rain pummeled against it – gray and wearying. The clouds became, darker, blacker. The thunder became louder. The lightning even more bright and ominous. And then, not knowing how many minutes had really passed, we came soaring out the other side… and the beautiful, unworried sunlight burst forth against a vibrant blue sky, blinding me. Once I regained my eyesight, I looked down at the other side of the clouds… and how very tame and mellow they looked from the other side.

Spiritual truth revelation: There is a place we can dwell in Him, above the storms of life. From our perspective, they can be terrifying. Looking only from the lowest point. But when we let Him lift us into the place of His love, His grace, His mercy, and His goodness… we are reminded He is Lord OVER the storms, and He is sovereign. And we are being carried in His arms.

sunrises whisper hope

For as long as I can remember, I have loved sunrise. From the time I was only 6 years old, getting up at 5:30am with my maternal grandpa – hearing him making coffee in the kitchen (though it was hot cocoa with marshmallows for me). To crawling out of bed, wiping sleep from my eyes, for early morning fishing trips leaving the house at 6am with my dad and older brother.

Sunrises… early morning… soothes my soul and whispers through my spirit of new life and hope.

In 2006, my family uprooted and moved to southern Oregon. I was only a year out of college, a year into my career as an interpreter, and a year into a new year out of an unhealthy relationship. I was also in a season of limbo, trying to figure out what exactly God was doing and where He wanted me in this big world and in life. We moved to a little map dot in the woods, just off the lake. That lake… in some ways… became a place of calm for me, a refuge. I would find myself, in the midst of roiling questions in my heart and befuddlement in my mind, sitting in my car at the lake in the wee hours of the morning… facing where I knew the sun would rise.

Because of the lake, in the cooler seasons, fog would be thick covering the lake, and the mountains just behind. It was always a gamble, whether or not I would actually get to see the sun itself. At first, this would frustrate me. To get up, brave the chill, and sit alone in the cold, gray semi-darkness… and not even get to see a sunrise, especially as that was exactly how my soul felt many of those mornings in that season of life.

Some mornings, the sun would rise in glorious might… rays shooting majestically through the fog, burning it away with ferocity… daring it to try and resist. Other days, the sun would come up softly, gently, quietly… slipping into the sky without fanfare. The fog remained, and yet the light of day still came.

The Lord spoke sure truths into my spirit through those many mornings we spent together on that lake… waiting for the sunrise together.

Whether or not I can see it — whether or not it is veiled by fog or clouds — the sun still rises. Every. Single. Morning. Whether or not I “feel” it – God’s mercies are new. Every. Single. Morning. His love is real, present, NEAR… regardless of the fog or clouds in my heart or mind. He is still there. Faithful. True. Unfailing. DAILY.

Sometimes He chooses to rush in with power and glory… pushing aside all the fog and darkness and confusion, with a triumphant authority and ferocious love. With LIGHT and TRUTH. And other times, He is content to be there, still NEAR and no less present, but without the fanfare and lights… stealing through the circumstances in my life, pulling me to TRUST and worship Him even in the mundane and unremarkable days… being faithful to praise and obey even in the grey.
He whispers through my spirit, reminding me…

“The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, that shines brighter and brighter until the full day.” (Proverbs 4:18, NASB)
and
“The Light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot comprehend or overpower it.” (John 1:5)
and
“God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all.” (1 John 1:5b)

And my soul finds itself calmed and at peace, cradled in His love, hope, and faithfulness.