Storms have always held an incredible beauty to me. Each one is different. The cloud formations could resemble giant white fists, piled high up into the sky, or a fierce wall of darkness. The light of the sun becomes blocked, the world turns dark. The sky turns into a grey dome when the storm is directly above. Lightning flashes followed by the booming sound of thunder. Then the rain falls from the heavens, gently or with a pounding force. There may be fierce winds or hail. The larger the hail, the louder the steady rumbling sound.

I can still see my dad's face as we would stand in front of the house watching as the storms came toward the farm. He taught me to listen for the dreaded sound. A steady roar meant someone was getting hail. He did this wringing of his hands, rubbing and moving his thumbs and fingers together. His farm and his crops and animals were out in the storm and all he could do was pray that storm would pass and that we would be safe and protected. When it was over, he would make a trip to the fields to see if the wheat crop survived or was lost. And once we were behind the storm, it was then that we could see the beauty in it. The sun would shine and the light hit the clouds in a different way. We would find the colorful rainbow. We had made it through the storm. Reed and I looked up at the clouds just as my dad did. We come from a long line of people who have spent our lives weathering the storms. Just as all the folks around us have done.

I have never been more aware of storms of life than I am right now. I am in the middle of the storm, surrounded by the grey sky. Not sure how strong the storm will get or how long it will last, but this is a storm I must go through. I do know for certain that while I am in it, I am not alone. I am protected. The battle is not for me. My only part is to trust God in the storm. And I look forward to those beautiful streaks of light that shine through those dark clouds when the storm has passed.