100% Chance of Rainey

She’s got her eyes set on the summer sky, looking toward the clouds, assessing their danger. She asks, “Are those storm clouds, Mom? Is it supposed to rain?” And I answer, not just once or twice or ten times but dozens, “No, sweetheart, the forecast is clear.”

Rainey

And my heart aches for her, a familiar pain, because I, too, was once a ten year-old girl afraid of darkness looming. And I hurt with a sense of powerlessness now because I can’t calm her fear any more than I can control the weather. But a mother tries.

When she was younger, I told her lightening was just Jesus taking a picture. She’d smile wide; thunderstorms made her very photogenic then. But now she knows how to read the paper and listen to the radio and she hears about tsunamis washing out entire villages and tornadoes tearing up towns and she wonders if ours is next. She knows God’s not scrapbooking, and the angels aren’t bowling.

So I teach her about meteorology, about high pressures and low, and together we check the radar online, together we are storm chasers, chasing nerves away with knowledge. We drive home through sheets of rain and electricity, and I reassure her about rubber tires and their grounding properties. When the horizon is gray and she can’t see the silver lining, I remind her of flying, how on the runway it can be cloudy, but ten, twenty, thirty-thousand feet in the air, there’s always blue sky. The sun is always shining up there; we just have to rise above the clouds.

And it helps. But the wind still howls.

So I tell her about God and how He’s in charge of the atmospheric conditions, and how He can calm any storm, and how, even if He doesn’t, we can believe His promise to never leave us out in the elements alone. And she knows this with her head, but it hasn’t been translated yet to her heart. And it makes me sad and frustrated because I know the faith it takes to believe, and it’s the one thing I can’t give her.

But, like a weather vane, I point her to the Person who can.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid (John 14:27).

A few hours after he said this to his disciples, Jesus Christ took on our sins, and, in our place, died on the cross to pay their penalty, thus guaranteeing our peace. Not peace with cyclones or our circumstances, but peace with God. By making peace with God we experience the peace of God whenever our hearts are troubled.

If in the darkest hour, we believe that somehow there is a purpose in life and that that purpose is love, even the unbearable becomes bearable and even in the darkness there is a glimmer of light. If we believe that in Jesus we see the picture of God, then, in face of that amazing love, it becomes, not easy, but at least possible, to accept even what we cannot understand, and in the storms of life to retain a faith that is serene (William Barclay, The Gospel of John Commentary).

Serenity, this is what I want for my firstborn when the forecast threatens. For her to know that even if a severe storm is on its way, peace is possible, and it’s only possible through Christ.

And so I pray for her:

Lord Jesus, thank you for your gift of peace. Thank you that by your death and resurrection you offer lasting peace to our souls. Help Rainey to realize that peace does not come in the clouds but by the cross and what You did for us there. In Your name, I pray. Amen.

Comments

  1. Erin Richer says:

    It’s so poetic! This is incredible, Megan. It’s beautiful and takes me right there to where you are experiencing your experience fully. Amazing. You have such a gift with words.

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