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After The Storm

The floods have lifted up, O Lord,
The floods have lifted up their voice, 

The floods lift up their pounding waves.
Psalm 93:3 

 

Last week.

The rains came loud and fierce and brought flood waters to our doorstep. For many, the stream never knocked but burst inside uninvited. The rains brought waves into barns and basements and living rooms. Sinking highways, railways and dirt roads. The waters lifted pavement and loosened foundations until they crumbled down mountain sides. Cattle and poultry succumbed to the deluge around them. So did abandoned vehicles and farming machinery.

A 24 hour downpour gave birth to a torrent of ruin.

No human hand could have stopped it. The surge too great to control. Hardly a concern and not a twinkle in our eye just a day before. Far out of our ability and supremacy to command it's ceasing. And even after much heroic work, many animals saved and amazing community care for the displaced - A city still sunk in a river of sludge.

In the cool of the morning after the storm, when the clouds parted and the blue of the sky proved to still exist, we saw in all its entirety what lay ahead. A rebuild too large to comprehend. And a question that struck fear into many. How does a city get food and supply when all it's roads and railways have been cut off? Oh how the human heart is prone to panic.

The futility of our systems laid bare in front of our eyes. Some submerged themselves in the muck bringing livestock to safety. Other's doom scrolled projections of further damage alongside stories of Good Samaritan courageousness and bravery. Our sense of security broke wide-open. But that reality rubbed against an overflowing gratefulness for helicopters and emergency workers and so much more. Up and down.

Giving us whiplash.

Like being on a raft plunged into rushing waters, pulling hard left and right, threatening to topple or submerge - our collective spirits worked hard to stay afloat. To find some grip of hope. Some resolve for the work ahead. And preparation for whatever may come next. We rallied. Filled sandbags, brought clothes and food to shelters and organized help for those in need. Then watched the news with furrowed brow.

And we prayed.

Oh to hear the collective prayers. The cries for the Lord's help. How loud those calls would have been as they echoed into the heavens. How the whispers of grief and shouts of frustration brought His ear low to us. Oh how His eyes watched. Knowing all that would take place in every minute of those showering days. Nothing was a surprise to the Lord. And when we called on Him to hold off the forecast of even more rain just long enough for repairs to be made and preparations to be planned. He heard and He answered.

After the storm - the Lord is mightier still.

He sits above the rain-filled clouds and calls each one to fall. No one care's more about this earth than the One who created it. And each drop that falls today is an admonishment for His people to defile our land no longer. It's a reminder of who holds all things together. Because it is not us. As our futile hands fumble to fix the mess, we are in His capable clutch.

Take heart, all who despair the weary swamp.

With every new storm, and every new squall - the waters remain His footstool.

And dominion is His forever.

 

Mightier than the thunders of many waters,
mightier than the waves of the sea, 

the Lord on high is mighty! 

Psalm 93:4