Calm in the storm

The wind started blowing. And blowing.  And blowing.  The sky began to turn orange-grey and thunder rumbled.  Lightning flashed. Hail pounded.

Oh yeah--a thunderstorm.
And a good one at that.

I had one boy open all the blinds, oohhh'ing and ahhhh'ing completely fascinated by this natural feat.

The other?
You can probably guess...

Wild-eyed and terrified.

As I held him close, all twisted in his monkey-limbs,
explaining the booms and cracks,
uncovering the mystery of his displaced anxiety,
I understood.

For he and I are not too far apart. 

I worry and fret and wonder and obsess.  From mud stains to life goals. 

And here as I held my wee one, wrought with fear, my heart was at near-explosion limits of love and compassion on the scale of Fukushima, for my shaking leaf.

I. get. it.

I only see part.
God sees full.

I only see the wind...the thunder...the lightning...the hail. In my babe-sense of understanding, somedays the world seems to be falling apart.  The windows shake, the ground shifts, it feels as though it will be like this forever.

But I only see in part.

I don't understand how storms work, how fronts come through, how thunder and lightning echo.  In my fear and anxiety I am blinded from seeing the beauty of its majesty and how the rain nourishes the earth (and gives me a break from watering the garden!).

But He sees the whole.

As my wild-eyes look up, tossed in the storm, I see that I do not need to feel ashamed. For still, still, I am held in a loving and compassionate gaze. In tender arms that soothe and caress.

It's all going to be okay. 
It's all going to be okay. 

For I only see in part.
But God knows the whole.
I only see the storm.
But God sees the life cycle.
And there is no chiding, no "buck-up," no dismissing.
Only deep love.

If you only knew.  
If you could only see the whole. 


Parenting is such a gift.
I'm learning so much from being their mama.
Widening and expanding my own concept of God.
Beginning to really...see.

And give thanks in the storm.