"Sometimes God calms the storm, and sometimes He calms His child."
But I don't agree, not today. It was going to be a good day. I was going to do some good things, love my family, maybe write a bit more of that novel and feel satisfied with life. But there were clouds on the horizon when I woke up, and then the first wave slapped my face. I came upstairs from my bedroom, saw a look on the face of someone I love who is tired, exhausted.
I can't make myself ask why. My lips go dry and parched and my heart seizes up. I'm afraid, afraid of what she'll say, because I know that it won't be something I can fix. I won't be able to pray it away or hug it away or sit there and honestly tell her that it's going to get better in this life, because what if it never, ever does?
Swirl, shake, rain in torrents down from the sky. God isn't calming the storm.
Clenched teeth, a gut fear, I'm hiding behind my bedroom door, blasting my music. God isn't calming my soul.
So I wait, and I listen, and I tell Him that I need Him to help, because I can't. It's the storm kicking it's heels at me again, splashing rough waves into my home.
Sometimes He calms the storm, and sometimes He calms His child?
I know the sentiment meant well.
I refuse to believe He is silent in this storm. I hear him, stronger than the waves, deeper than the rushing waters, bigger than this fear. Battered, bruised, more coursing water, and a Voice.
"I'm here, I'm not going to leave you."
Sometimes He calms the storm, sometimes He calms His child.
And sometimes He stands in the middle of the roaring water and holds me and tells me I'll never be alone.