“We are not merely surviving as one would think; we are thriving.”
~The Colors of Goodby by September Vaudrey~
Darkened clouds hurriedly moved in. Warnings scrolled across my phone. A storm was fast approaching. The signs were there. Gusty winds, blackened sky tinged with hues of nasty green, thunder rolling in the distance. The edgy dog sensing a change.
Picking up the dinner plates, our evening ritual began.
Lola needed a quick walk. Cushions on the deck needed to be brought in. We worked together with a bit of urgency. As much urgency as we could for two bedraggled survivors. One marked by nasty scars on the outside, one marked with the invisible ink of chronic illness.
We no sooner had buttoned down the hatches when the sky fell to the ground. Rain slammed with violence against windows. Lightening zig zagging across the sky. The house rattled with thunder and howling winds. The spindly dogwood trees not long in the ground laid over in defeat.
Warnings before the storm, gave us time to prepare. Warnings visible to the eye.
This last storm, eighteen days in, yes I count them, the pre and the post. I missed them. Missed the signs.
It came at such speed there was no time to prepare. I sit and wonder, had I known, could I have prepared? Would I have lived that day any different?
I marvel was that the grace? To not see the freight train roaring headlong into your life.
These past days as we have sat in the puddles of the aftermath such are the thoughts still rolling over and over in my heart.
I can see now the glimpses of the God who went before us. How precise the circumstances were aligned to ride out the perfect storm.
I sit with those glimpses to fight the fear that wants to sneak in. I watch him in his restless sleep and grasp The Grace that is holding me. Holding us.
The landscape changes after a storm. Wet ground gives way under the weight of our feet. Tends to shift, leaving us unsteady. Yet, we are thriving here, not merely surviving. Only by the grace. His Grace.
even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and I will save.
Isaiah 46.4 ESV
Gifts of Grace