Blue Skies Ahead
It was 8:30 on Monday morning. We had been plagued by dry temperatures producing destructive wildfires in our state, but temperatures had cooled and we were enjoying some much needed moisture.
I was driving Izzy across town to her first day of Horse Camp. For five days, two hours each morning, Izzy would learn the basics of caring for horses; saddling, grooming, leading and riding. It promised to be a great week.
As we pulled onto the main street from our subdivision, the rain started coming down in buckets. I kept turning my windshield wipers up a notch because my visibility was becoming less and less. Soon I had them going at the highest speed possible, and that just looked, well, silly. I have to wonder if the speed of the wipers really makes any difference when the rain is so heavy.
My heart started to race a little, and panic crept in. I looked at the panel of knobs and buttons. What do I do? I can’t see much in front of me. Ahh, the defrost setting. That’ll work. It helped a little. The windows were at least un-fogged now, but the rain was pounding, and now gigantic puddles were forming in the street. Cars were slowing. Should I pull over and wait it out? No, horse camp awaits. Onward Krista.
Then questions started coming from my passenger in the backseat.
Mom, are you okay? Why do the wipers look so funny? Is horse camp really going to happen? What if it’s muddy? I don’t have boots.
Ugh. I don’t know. I really don’t know, Izzy. I think this is just a freak storm.
Then my car radio did that series of beeps and computer weather guy started talking. (You know him—he announces the storm warnings.) A flash flood warning was in effect. Really? But it’s Horse Camp day. Please no flash flooding.
Soon we were slowly merging onto the highway. Traffic was almost at a standstill. Then, off in the distance, I saw it. Through heavy splattering raindrops and a parade of taillights, I saw it. The sun. It was shining. On the foothills of the Front Range. And where Horse Camp would be held. Yippee!
Look Izzy. Do you see the sun shining over there? I think that’s where the stable is.
Oh good, Mom. This is going to be a good day after all.
Sure enough about a mile and half away the rain stopped. By the time we reached our exit the roadways were dry and the sun was shining. Brightly.
My heart no longer raced. Panic was not an issue. There were no questions coming from the backseat. Before me, blue sky. Behind me, dark clouds. But what if another storm comes? What if the sun only shines briefly? Focus Krista. Look ahead, not behind.
Then it dawned on me–no pun intended. When caught in the middle of a torrential downpour we so easily go to that place of panic and uncertainty. We snap at those we love because we don’t have answers. We question all we’ve learned about God. We wonder where He is in the midst of OUR storm?
And then we see light. It was there the whole time. We just couldn’t lift our heads enough to see beyond the dark clouds. Or maybe we were focused on the scene in the review mirror. Whatever it is, we are now more hopeful. The future is looking a little brighter. We utter prayers of thanksgiving instead of panic prayers. We smile. We know this will be a good day after all.
But if only we had that same faith and hope during the storm. Teach me, Lord. Teach me how to have that kind of faith.
We know that our suffering gives us the strength to go on. The strength to go on produces character. Character produces hope. And hope will never let us down. Romans 5:3-5
