Storms.

storm image small

When I was a child I was terrified of storms. I was an anxious kid anyways, but the threat (real or perceived) of a storm was enough to throw me into a panic. I knew the phone number for Civil Defense by the time I was 9 and would call them anytime I heard thunder to see if there was threat of a storm coming our way. It’s probably a very good thing that I wasn’t a child in the age of internet.

Now though? Oh, I love a good thunderstorm. Give me a stormy night at home any time and I am a happy girl. I will snuggle up under one of my million thrifted crochet blankets and turn on a good movie and rest peacefully in my house while listening to the raging storm outside.

Because somewhere along the way to this point I learned that the house I am in is stronger than most storms we are likely to face. Are there some that can shake the foundation of this house? Sure. Are they likely to hit me here where we live? Not so much.

Now my kids aren’t quite as frightened by storms as I was as a child, but they do get nervous at the sound of an approaching storm. The look at me to make sure we are safe and I always reassure them that we are safe as houses under the cozy blankets in our living room. And whether they are completely reassured or not they seem to believe my confident assurances and try and ignore the storm that rages outside their windows.

And I find myself thankful that I’ve grown up so much that I’m not scared of storms anymore.

At least not those of the meteorological variety.

But I would be lying if it didn’t occur to me recently that the little girl with Civil Defense on speed dial is still inside trembling at other storms that come her way. I’ve been thinking lately about what storms have replaced those thunderstorms of my childhood.

Losing my husband?

The health of my children?

Seeing people I love suffer?

Juggling the bills that never seem to end?

The older you get and more you have to hold on to the more terrifying it seems to see the possibilities for things that can take the people you love away.

I’m trying to remember more lately how strong the foundation of my house is. I’m trying to remember that just as I am caring for my children there is Someone who is caring for me. That I know Him. And that He loves me.

I don’t want Viola to be the only thing I ever write about on here because I don’t want to give the impression that her disability dominates our life. It doesn’t. But God is using it to teach me so much. Like who she belongs to. And who I belong to.

Viola’s diagnosis of Childhood Apraxia of Speech has meant lots of intense speech therapy. And that therapy is not covered by insurance. So, we’ve got an unexpected expense of nearly $700 a month that we are dealing with to give her the help she needs. Outside of all of the other medical expenses for her and the other kids. For a  one-income family of 7 (with two kids in braces) it is not an insignificant expense.

And I remember the day I booked her appointment for an evaluation and was told the cost was $450 for the initial visit and $160 per hour thereafter that I had no idea where that money would come from. But Thomas and I decided to step out in faith and book the appointment and take it on a week by week basis.

So, every week I ask God to supply the money for her therapy outside of our usual budget. And, so far, every single week He has.

Mostly, the money comes from selling things that have stacked up in our home unused. But, I also make things. And go to antique shows. And sell essential oils. And somehow in between it all it has covered every session.

Last week I was pulling out all the stops to avoid dipping into savings for her session. By Thursday I was taking loose change to Publix to add to the fund for Friday’s session. (How on Earth did we accumulate $30 in change?!) The night before her session, I was $35 short.  And my faith wasn’t shaken. I knew I would  be able to dip into our reserve to pay for her session this time. And then the next morning about 15 minutes before I got to her session I got an email from someone who wanted to buy a couple of the dream catchers I made and it filled in that gap. I was so very thankful for that provision.

I wasn’t thankful because I didn’t have the $35 we needed to cover the remainder of the payment. I was thankful that God provided for His child in that way. And I was thankful for the eyes to see that it was His provision.

Now, does that mean we won’t ever struggle to cover this expense? Of course not. Does it mean I will never worry? Don’t I wish.

However, it does mean that I am praying for the eyes to see those moments of provision and to see them as God’s love for me and for Thomas and for our children.

A friend posted a picture the other day of refugee children playing in a bathtub filled with water in a pile of rubble. Their father had provided a small bit of happiness and relief for them in a very dark and difficult situation. At the time it made me realize that my struggles in the north Atlanta suburbs (while not unimportant to me) are often in much need of perspective in the grand scheme of things. But, as I have digested that image it also made me realize that sometimes God provides us moments of peace and joy and relief in what feels like the rubble of a difficult situation. Just as that father gave his children a moment of joy in the midst of a great struggle, so has my Father given me joy. If only I have the eyes to see it.

And that is what I really want to remember. That seeing those moments, those gifts, are completely up to me. God, my Heavenly Father, has provided untold gifts in the midst of turmoil that I have likely been too closed minded to see. If only I could have seen this sooner. But, if I fail to look around now and to be aware I may miss some of the most beautiful moments of my life.

The smiles on the faces of those children were such a wake-up call to me. Joy comes from inside. Joy in the midst of rubble, of destruction, of sadness and even death is a possibility. Lord, please do not let me be too short sighted to see this here on this Earth. Let me see Your beauty in everything. Let me see every small and big thing as a gift. Let me cherish these breaths, these struggles. Because You are here with me. And in every moment let me realize I am not alone.

I don’t call the Civil Defense anymore when I am scared. But I do still find myself scared and trembling in the midst of the storms of life. However much we change and grow in our lives there is still that small child inside who longs for reassurance that we are safe. Perhaps without that fear we would never reach for the hand of the One who can give us peace.

Lord, give me that peace and the wisdom to see where it comes from.

 

1 Comment

  1. Well said, Jenna! A beautiful tribute to your faith!

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