After the Storm

It is easy for us to imagine our God in the midst of the storms in our life, we have so many ways to picture Him in this role. He is the one who speaks and calms the waves and winds(Mark 4). He is our armor(Ephesians 6). He is our refuge(Psalm 46:1) and strong tower to run into(Proverbs 18:10). He is our protector in both the raging flames and the deep waters(Isaiah 43). But here’s the question I find myself asking lately - when the storm has passed, when the battle is over, who is God then?

This year was my storm, it was my fire to walk through and though I wasn’t consumed by the flames, I didn’t escape unscathed. I witnessed and deeply felt the deaths of 9 infants, and at times had the crushing job of telling the parents and loved ones of their passing. I lost one of the most important relationships in my life in a toxic and painful way. I was caught in the midst of an unhealthy work environment and navigated the harrowing paths of walking out of that. I was present during countrywide riots and instability, leading to inability to travel, shortages of gas, water, and food, and gripping fear and anxiety among my neighbors, friends, and city. I have felt two earthquakes and the terror that grips a nation suffering from PTSD when they roll through. I flew home urgently to be present for my father’s amputation and frightening fight with sepsis. Then one month later flew home urgently once again, alone, to be hospitalized with dengue fever. I have lived this year, many years actually, in a state of high alertness, hyper vigilance, always half prepared for the next crisis or life/death scenario. The next story of unimaginable trauma, shared within the sweet walls of trusted relationship. The next ask for money because my neighbors are going hungry. The next cry for help as a baby is brought to my door in distress. The next morning I’ll be woken up to cries that someone is dying, or in active labor, or in danger, or alone. This hyper vigilance has taken it’s toll, and added to the flames of this year.

But God was with me this year, so close I didn’t go a day, a moment, without feeling His presence. I cried out in despair and anger and knew God was crying with me. I yelled out in pain and felt His comfort and unparalleled peace. I looked up as I held the hand of a child in their dying moments, and as I hit the floor as I learned of another tragedy at the hands of injustice. And in each high and low, God was there. Protecting me, forming a lighthouse, a tower of refuge, holding me in comfort and giving me strength to do it all again, to feel it all again. He was there, undoubtedly and constantly, as my partner, my protector, and my strength. But who is He now, in the rebuilding? When the disciples woke Jesus on the boat surrounded by raging seas and gripped with fear, and Jesus, in steady tone, calmed the storm, what then?

Here is what I’m learning; after the storm passes, the real work begins, and God is intimately present for this, too. When the flames die down and the crisis passes, when we dare our first wobbly steps out of survival mode and take a collective look around, God is eager to reach out a hand and walk us into the rebuilding. This is when we look inward and evaluate the damages. What left us bruised? Where has the crisis changed us, which are the wounds we must tend to first? When the disciples watched the storm calm down in awe and the danger had passed, what we don’t see are these moments that follow, where I can only imagine they debrief what they witnessed and evaluate what they felt, and this is where I envision their faith is strengthened. This is where they process the immensity of the miracles witnessed, and this is the phase in which we strengthen, too, as we reflect on the ways God walked through the storm by our side.

“Where will you run, my soul? Where will you go when wells run dry?

When the wind starts to blow, how are you gonna keep this flame alive?

In the fading light when night is breaking, I know You will always be waiting.

You'll always be there, I’m running to the secret place”

What I’m learning right now, is how beautiful this phase can be. Where urgency slows to peace and chaos quiets and soothes itself into calm, and here God is, right in the midst of it, speaking all the winds and waters to silence. This is the secret place. This is what Jesus felt when he retreated away from the masses and into the solitude of the wilderness. This is the place of refuge and safety we read about in Psalm 91. This is where we find rest as we retreat from the battle, where we are strengthened and rebuilt, and let me assure you, this is where God is. This is where my summer has been spent, in the secret place with God, which for me looks like the third floor balcony of the Allan’s house. Reading books and scripture, spending intentional time in solitude, prayer and worship. Retreating, processing and working through the highs and lows of my last year(or last 4 years) and finding God in all the broken, messy pieces. And it seemed for awhile that God was quieter here, as the storms silenced around me so did the voice and presence of God in the midst of it. It was here that I realized the imagery we are given of God as both a lion and a lamb, and what I need right now, in the quiet, is my Father, my God, the peaceful lamb. Who sits with me in this secret place an arms reach away, ever willing to provide comfort or a soothing word of truth, as the more painful memories of the past few years one by one begin to resurface. It is in these waves of emotions and memories, as they come in - some rolling and some a force that overtakes me - that God sits alongside me and gently reminds me of my truth, and this is where the strengthening happens, not in battle, but in the quiet, in the secret, in the still and honest presence of God.