The tempest

It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. Deuteronomy 31:8

It was with great reluctance and no small measure of trepidation that I embarked for Coahoma, Mississippi last Friday. Coahoma was relatively uncharted territory for me – I didn’t know the staff well, and despite a few trips to the tiny town this past year, I hadn’t forged any comforting relationships in the community. I dreaded the work ahead, having less than 48 hours to get this staff and site prepared to run their first week of programming. I felt alone heading into what looked like a very dry and weary land. Nonetheless, I took comfort in the fact that God would go before me. The night before I left, I wrote these words of prayer in my journal: “Give me freedom and confidence to RUN into Coahoma tomorrow, knowing that you will be waiting for me there. What a great comfort that is. I will look forward to meeting you there.”
So, with the same anticipation that comes from awaiting a visit with an old friend or beloved family member, I hit the road, trying to quiet the questions and fears and dread with the knowledge that I would be meeting God in the Delta. I was eager to crawl into his lap and feel his embrace – however figuratively.
When I was about an hour away from my destination, the clear blue sky began to fill with clouds. Ever-strengthening wind whipped dust and leaves across the flat expanse of farm fields. According to my car’s thermometer, the outside temperature had been steadily increasing, climbing to a scorching 96 degrees. I had become accustomed to driving through monsoon-like storms in the coastal states last summer, but I hadn’t expected to encounter torrential downpours in the typically dry delta. Suddenly the skies opened up, millions of celestial water balloons torpedoing down onto my car; my wipers couldn’t keep up. It was difficult to see, but all I could do was keep driving. Lightning split the sky and thunder rolled furiously.
In the same way that God spoke to Job in a whirlwind, I knew he was trying to remind me of something through this storm – which only seemed to get worse as I got closer to Coahoma. I wanted him to be my great big granddaddy in the sky that day, but he would not be contained to an easy chair. He is too mighty and powerful to be harnessed, to wild to be controlled or put into a box, to brilliant to be predictable.
He didn’t calm the storm that night; in fact, it kept raining all weekend long, more rain than the arid Delta had seen in weeks. He didn’t calm the storm, but he brought me through it, speaking all the way - boasting of his power and proclaiming his wisdom, majesty, and sovereignty, holding me tight. Though I had longed for a soft, comforting embrace, at the end of the day I knew there was no better place for me to be than in the grip of the One whose hand could orchestrate such a storm.

For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest… Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire. Hebrews 12:18,28-29