Never Alone

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about storms.

 

That’s not surprising, really, considering we just marked the one year anniversary of Hurricane Harvey here in Houston. A couple of weeks ago, a dear friend moved from Houston to North Carolina – and now her family sits squarely in the path of Hurricane Florence.

Around here we’ve weathered enough hurricanes to know how to prepare: Buy all the water and batteries you can find, load the cart with your favorite snacks and beverages, and fill the tank with gas. When Al Roker or Jim Cantore start showing up in places everyone else is trying to get away from, it’s time to make a list of the things you love about your family before they start getting on your nerves from all the togetherness.

But even if you do all those things, even if you board up your windows and protect your furniture by placing its legs in tin cans or carry precious items from the first floor to the second, there are times when you simply can’t stop the storm from coming in. There aren’t enough towels in the world to keep the water from seeping in, swallowing furniture and pictures and memories.

Even if you did everything right.

Even if you don’t deserve it.

Even if you ate your vegetables and exercised every day and didn’t drink soda.

We can prepare our homes. We can make evacuation plans. We can buy flashlights and umbrellas and wellies, but sometimes — sometimes — there is nothing we can do to protect ourselves from life’s storms.

Thing is, storms don’t always look like weather. They can look like accidents, or job loss, or divorce.

Or cancer.

The truth is, I don’t know how to stop these types of storms. I don’t know how to prepare for some of these unexpected and unwelcome curve balls, barreling at us at 100 miles an hour even as we look for someplace, anyplace, to hide.

But I do know that despite how we might feel in the midst of our suffering, we are never alone.

After Harvey, people showed up for their friends, their neighbors, and strangers they only laid eyes on once.

People are already mobilizing and supplies are stocked to help with recovery once Florence hits land and follows its unstoppable path.

People show up in the midst of sickness or despair because they are the hands and feet of Jesus. They show up because the Lord has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and discipline. They show up even when they don’t know what to say, or how to help, or what to do. They show up because Jesus loves us so much, he first showed up for us.

I don’t know why bad things happen to good people. I don’t know why healthy people get sick. I don’t know why an anticipated year turns out far different than we ever could have imagined. When I think about it, I really don’t know a lot of things.

I just know that one night Jesus was in a boat with his disciples. He slept while a terrible, terrifying storm came up on the water, scaring the men so badly they woke Jesus and begged him to save them. With three words he rebuked the waves and the wind: “Quiet!” he said. “Be still!” And the wind stopped and the waves died down (Mark 4:35-39).

When we are suffering we can feel lost at sea, completely abandoned, alone, and angry. We can feel like Jesus is asleep in our boat, and we want him to wake up! We want him to do something!

Storms of all kinds are going to come in to our lives. Some will last longer than others, and some will have more effects than others. Even if we can’t imagine it, the storm won’t last forever — the waves will die down and the wind will stop.

When it does, we’ll be different than we were before. Wiser. We’ll have stories to tell, experiences to share that will help the person behind us on the path.

And in the telling of the stories and the sharing of the experiences, we’ll see that Jesus was there all along.

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8