Lessons from a storm

{Photo credit to Mike Lewinski and Flickr Creative Commons}

It was huge. 

We were at our homeschooling co-op, up in the hall, practicing our little plays. The mums saw it coming, and rushed to bring everything under cover downstairs. Then they brought umbrellas up – just in time. It hit, a fury of rain, as hard as I’ve ever see it come, lightning, cracking thunder, a gale of a wind, and soon, hail. (They later told us that is was equivalent to a Category 2 cyclone.) It was scary, and wonderful all at the same time. We gave up talking and just stood together, watching it sprinkle through the glass louvers, praying they wouldn’t crack, praying protection on our cars, praying our audience wouldn’t drive in this storm. My brother sat on the stage with a crying primary schooler tucked in his arms, gently comforting her. We couldn't go downstairs. We could only wait.

It eventually passed. Although it was still pouring, we ventured downstairs, in twos and three, dashing past the broken gutter that spewed water on top of our umbrellas, and managed to get us, too. We laughed in the drenching wetness, and shrieked our fun, and eventually got everyone into the dry downstairs. None of our cars were significantly damaged. No costumes were wet. The hall was still dry, the glass louvres intact.  Our audience arrived, the plays went of pretty much without a hitch, we laughed and talked together after cleaning up. We drove home.

We got home to a blackout. Fetched torches, lit candles. No internet to check the storm's progress. No oven clocks to know the time in an instant. We moved towards bed.

And then I looked outside the window.

And saw the stars. 

Since the surrounding suburbs were in blackout, the light pollution was reduced significantly. I could see a few of the fainter stars. The clouds had rolled back, and the night sky glowed with more pinpricks of light than I usually see above our cluttered city. I went outside and sat on the cold fence, simply staring upward and soaking in beauty. Beauty that needed a storm, and a blackout, to see. 

The power was still out in the morning. No toast. No email checking. Which, though inconvenient, was nice. It made space. It opened a margin in my life. I felt strangely uncluttered. A blackout teaches you how much you rely on electricity, and the internet. But you know what I missed most?

Music.

We usually have music of one sort or another going during after-breakfast clean-up. Instead, there was silence. I was craving a tune. I pulled out our batteries and racked my brains thinking of a device that was battery-powered in our house. Ah, yes! Our piano! Praying they would fit, and work, I pushed them in, and held down the power button. Life!! I sat down, and played O, Holy Night, thrilling in the glorious music. Music was no longer just another thing in my life, another convenience. It was beauty. Holy blessing. And it took a storm, and a blackout, to show me that.

Our power came back on this afternoon. I literally cried, "Hallelujah!" and ran to switch on the computer. It was wonderful to see emails from dear friends, and send songs humming through the speakers. My life does feel a bit more cluttered now. 

But I saw beauty through the storm, and through the darkness that followed. 

No matter what storm you're in now, now matter how dark the blackout that surrounds you, may you see beauty too. May you look up and see the stars of God's faithfulness. May you listen to the glorious sound of His plan, whether you feel it strong inside you or only remember it as fact in your head.


Cassie xoxoxo