In the Storm
We woke up Saturday, as many of you did as well, to a blanket of snow that continued to grow on through the day and the next. As I watched the snow come down, I was reminded of a snow storm we had last winter.
Now, if you have young children (or grandchildren) then you are probably aware of a certain Disney princess who’s fear in combination with magical power instigates a blizzard. Yes, I’m talking about Elsa. There's a line from the song “Let It Go” from Frozen that goes "the wind is howling like this swirling storm inside..." It was that kind of storm.
It was a Sunday, so in the evening we went out to my dear in-laws for dinner as we do every Sunday. When we drove out, the roads were clear and there was only a light drizzle. By the time we loaded the girls into the car and were headed home, not even an hour and half later, there were several centimetres of snow on the ground. Enough snow that lines on the road were obscured. And the wind. The wind was blowing snow into the car, seemingly from all directions. It really was a swirling storm.
I drove home without being able to see lines on the roads, just following in the tracks made by other vehicles, or following along the edge of a barrier, going by memory of each turn and corner. I was driving because Bob had needed to take a phone call. With precious cargo in the back, I had to be extra focused and alert. When we finally pulled into the garage, I felt like I had aged several years in that hour long drive.
As I thought of this experience, I began to reflect on the storms of life when they come. When the wind is howling and swirling that it is hard to see where you are going. Sometimes they are external storms, causing chaos all around us. Like Covid, or that illness in the family, or perhaps trying to keep the business afloat when moving office and house all while your wife is labouring in the hospital with your first child (yes, that was Bob and I the month Elizabeth was born). Other times they are internal storms that we try to keep bottled up and from spilling out. The anxiety, the questioning faith, the turmoil over decisions about the future). Either way, it feels as if all you can do is keep both hands tightly gripped onto the wheel to keep a steady course. That singular focus of just making it out alive on the other side takes all you’ve got and leaves you with no space for anything else. It's exhausting.
When I have an episode of anxiety and sleeplessness it can feel like this. Every ounce of energy and focus I have turns towards fighting the storm raging in my mind. I have trouble preparing or planning, let alone thriving. On the other side I am spent, completely depleted. And if I’m honest with you, I am often left discouraged and wondering, “is there a different way through the storm?” I know that the storms will come. They are unavoidable.
But what if... what if in the middle of the spinning and spiralling it was possible to find rest for my heart and mind and soul?
Now, what I landed on is by no means the only ways through a storm. I think its helpful to have multiple tools at our disposal. Like my vehicle in that snow storm. It had the right tires, safe brakes, bright lights, alert sensors, and a co-pilot (when he had a break in the conversation) with helpful suggestions. Those things along with my concentration and several prayers got us through the storm.
So what practice can I put into place that will specifically help me find rest even in the storm? My various studies and reading these few months keep bringing me back to this idea of remembrance.
Psalm 143:4-6
“My spirit is weak within me; my heart is overcome with dismay.
I remember the days of old; I meditate on all you have done; I reflect on the work of your hands.
I spread out my hands to you; I am like parched land before you.”
From the She Reads Truth devotional, Erin David writes:
“When the psalmist faced a dark night of the soul and struggled to see the light of hope, he defaulted to rhythms of remembrance: I remember. I meditate. I reflect. As he reached for his memories of God’s deeds from the past, the light came back on.”
Today I read the story of Rehab in the book of Joshua (Chapter 2). Her recalling of what God has done for his people as they journeyed from Egypt to the Promise Land is what led her to faith and action amidst fear and anxiety. She believes that God can and will do what He says and so trusts that He can save her and her family.
From the She Reads Truth devotional, Amanda Bible Williams writes:
“We have seen evidence of His hand, His goodness, His glory, and it’s enough to melt our very hearts before Him in awe and worship. What if we made a practice of remembering this? Not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. Not only when blessings are evident, but when they’re hidden. Not in times of ease, but in times of stress.”
There are many moments throughout scripture where God specifically tells his people to build an altar, or pile some stones, or even partake in a particular meal, all as ways to remember what He has done. For me, one of those markers is my Bible. I open my bible and I read story upon story of God’s faithfulness, his loving kindness, how he always keeps his word, how he is present and working in and through the lives of his people. The psalms are filled with references to God being our rock and our refuge. A stronghold. A might fortress. Also how he covers us with his wings. He brings us in close for safety. He hides us. Even in the midst of a raging storm he provides rest.
I only have to open my own journals to see the through lines of his goodness in my life again and again. I read stories, the likes of Corrie ten Boom and Elizabeth Elliot, and see evidence of what God did in the midst of unimaginable storms. And you, friends, continually encourage my heart towards remembrance as I see God at work in your lives as well.
When we got home at the end of that snowy drive, the wind continued to blow and swirl outside. But from the inside, it was beautiful to watch. It is perhaps one of my favourite phenomenon: how the dark night seems suddenly lighter because of the snow that blankets the world around us. Within the protection of our home, the focus and alert could fade into giggles and dreams and plans for snowball fights and snow angels. This is what rest in the midst of the storm looks like for me. This is the picture of what remembering does for me. Refuge from the storm. Hope. Rest.
You may be saying, “that’s all well and good to say Anne when you’re not in the middle of the storm. But you don’t know the turmoil that is churning. It’s hard to remember right now. I don’t know how to remember. And perhaps I don’t want to remember.” I get it. I can’t wrap this all up with a pretty bow and say all the right words, as much as I would like to, because life isn’t like that. Perhaps you can find one truth to hold onto. And when that takes root, add another truth.
That one truth could be this: He knows you and He sees you. He sees the storms, both the external and the internal and wants to meet you there.
Psalm 56:8 (MSG)
“You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn, through the sleepless nights, each tear entered in your ledger, each ache written in your book.”
What a kind, gentle Father, ready to meet us with loving-kindness and grace in the midst of each storm.
Fun in the snow - February 2021