I grew up on the coast of Georgia. The smell of the salt water, the image of marsh grasses blowing in the wind, and the taste of salt air on my tongue are fresh in my brain any time I think back on my childhood. Maybe (and by that I mean probably) I’m the only one who finds the strong smell of “marsh mud” relaxing.
But, the other thing about growing up on the coast is you learn to be aware of the weather. Summer afternoon storms and the hurricane season are realities you become hyper-aware of at times. When I was in eighth grade, Hurricane Hugo was off the coast and appeared to be headed in our direction. We tracked the storm in my Earth Science class and as it churned closer and closer, it was clear we were in the bulls-eye. School was canceled, I helped my parents prepare our house as best we could, and we left to go further inland. Leaving our house that day and checking in with friends who were evacuating various places left an indelible mark on me. The uncertainty and fear of storm were palpable.
As Hugo came within hours of making landfall, the jutting coastline at the Georgia-South Caroline border “kicked” the twirling storm North at the last minute. Our area was spared a direct impact, for the most part, but our neighbors in coastal South Carolina were not as lucky. The devastation was widespread, life changing for many in that area, and emblematic of what I had feared for days. That experience left me with a healthy respect and a keen awareness of how dangerous nature can be.
The thing about storms that I think, at least for me, is most troubling, is how, even when we know they are coming, we don’t know just how bad they will be or how long they will last. Now granted, with advances in weather forecasting and radar, when storms threaten today we have a wealth of information at our fingertips. And though they don’t always get it exactly right, meteorologists and other experts are able to give us an idea of the track, shape, size, and intensity of today’s major storms. But the uncertainty of storms, even with this level of information, is still jarring.
I find the same challenges to be true when I’m facing the other types of storms in life. Sometimes, these storms are predictable and we have a heads up that they are coming. But, difficulties in life can spring up unexpectedly and catch us off guard. Regardless of how they start, when I’m in the midst of one of these situations, my reflexive position is to gauge just how bad, how big, how widespread this storm is, and how long it will hang around. It is as if my mind needs to know if I’m facing an afternoon thunderstorm that will blow over almost as quickly as it sprang up, or a category 5 hurricane that is going to transform the landscape of my life.
Assessing the “storm” can be a productive exercise. Car trouble – annoying, but probably an afternoon storm. Bickering between my children – persistent at times, but likely a rainy weather pattern. A failing marriage and the post-divorce years, a health crisis, financial struggles, the challenges of serving as a caregiver – those can all feel like a category 5 storm. Knowing the degree of the storm can help us put it into perspective in the grand scheme of our lives.
But, if we’re not careful, the danger of the storms becomes the focus. We become so obsessed with what is coming, what is currently crashing down around us, and what damage may remain that we lose sight of Who is ultimately in control of it all. Just like I can become obsessed with The Weather Channel leading into a big storm, I can also become transfixed by other voices when I’m facing a storm in life. Voices that discourage and demean; voices that threaten and degrade. Worse yet, sometimes, can be the voices that grow inside of me when I let the external circumstances and commentary shift my focus to the storm.
Thankfully, there is a voice that is louder, stronger, and more consistent than all of those than can take over my day and keep me up at night. Psalm 29 reminds us that God’s voice is THE strong, commanding voice.
“The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over many waters. The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.”
Psalm 29: 4-5
At the sound of his voice, our God is full of majesty and is completely in control. His voice is consistent, it is true, and it never leaves us alone. Unlike the voices of others – and ourselves – the voice of the Lord is truly the only tether we have in the storm.
David ends this Psalm beautifully reminding us of the majesty of the God whose voice is the only one worthy of attention:
“The Lord sits enthroned over the flood; the Lord sits enthroned as king forever. May the Lord give strength to his people! May the Lord bless his people with peace.”
Psalm 29: 10-11
That last word – peace – is really what I think we all are craving when storms hit. The lack of peace is what can make other voices so alluring. Being mindful of the voices around, and in, us is important when navigating the storms of life. Keeping our hearts focused on the Voice that matters is the only route to peace, no matter how strong, or how long, the storms persist.
