Written on January 21, 2019.
A few weeks ago, we had a tucked away time with our kids and grandies, on a little island we love in the Caribbean. These times are filled with sun, sand, food and fun. And without really purposing ourselves to it, each visit has included a boat ride.
The morning for our excursion came and we awakened to discover that a dark and dreary cloud had burst and its contents were pouring upon everything we could see and much we could not.
We arrived at breakfast a bit soggy and discovered the ones who take care of us with great joy, were a bit sullen and damp with the suggestion that we postpone our outing to the ocean.
Praying opened a storehouse of peace and we simply knew we were meant to go then. In the new of that moment where Pappa could create anything from the palette of His passion and our praise.
My person and I gave a quick glance and grin to each other. We had been here before. Under dark sky upon bobbing boat. This wasn’t our first storm. Nor the first time He asked us to pass through what looked dire and different, that we might shore upon saved and steadied.
And so we embarked, pregnant with possibility and purpose. For we have discovered that storm is as sweet as sunshine. The unknown isn’t upending, with Heaven as your umbrella.
Barely brought from bay, the upper air began to sift the clouds and birth bright blue. Our captain’s face broke wide with smile and our first mate gave a shout. Wonder and worship.
Waves fell and rose, like cast down crowns upon heightened hopes. When storm stirs instead of scares, the horizon is heavy with what we could not see before. Colored with the yet to be comprehended and celebrated.
Our ride took us to another little island full of shell and story. We collected and carried treasures and tales for our journey back. Recollections and remembrances.
Though sky was bright, the swell and sway of the sea had grown. We anchored adventurous in a crook of our cruise, where water simply waned to still, waiting with us as we feasted upon bow of boat from the bounty of the grill.
A thought nestled next to me, while moored within stable spot, that we would never have occupied this sacred space had there been no waves. It seems storms are anchors afterall, if we are willing to let them keep us where He is, with us. They can drive or draw. Called as catalyst are they. Fashioned from choice are we. Storms don’t hinder our choosing, they enhance and enable our ability to choose at all.
Our ride’s remainder found us surrounded by billowy breaks of 3 feet and more. It wasn’t the storm we were riding, but one yet coming. There would be no more ventures out that day or the next. Storms for others to choose. Our sea was split. Passage parted.
The rest of our excursion was swiftly made. And laced with legend by our first mate, as he shared about his experiences with a dolphin named JoJo whose habitat we hovered. JoJo dwelt within the waters for thirty five years, the same number of years as the teller, Mike. JoJo was unusual, not doing what others expected or had seen before.
With the last period of the final sentence, I wanted to see Jojo more than anything. Knowing our disappointment would be keen, Mike shared that Jojo wouldn’t be this far in.
But Pappa, well, He’s pretty far out 🙂
For Jojo came. He jumped and dove and sped alongside us for miles.
We weren’t owed this kiss for traveling weather’s travail. No, it’s just that storms are wombs, with waits to create and water to break. Promises sown inside that can’t seep and soar without our stay and still.
Storms have their brevity, promises their eternity. It’s an always been.
Pillared: Journal of a time of storm when you choose to flee or fellowship. What was the story of the storm? How did your choice affect the story?
Passaged: Invite Pappa to give you a passage that reveals more of this story in your life. Take a deep breath and dive deep.
Mine for this week is Luke 9:43
334 total views