Big Fat Copycat

“God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform.
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
and rides upon the storm.”
-William Cowper

I realize I straight-up ganked this lovely shot from Mr. Handsome's neat-o blog.

But it's just so gosh darn incredible. Fantastical.

And so pretty.

You see, last Saturday The Awaited Storm finally arrived. Boy did it ever. The house shook, gigantic hail (to me, Suz and Tara) mercilessly pelted our windows, and the sky

Well, the sky was sunny.

Isn't that strange?

Despite the insistent downpour that was thundering and echoing through our home, the sky was bright, the sun was shining.

It was a moment.

Maybe it's because I'm new here, but I've never experienced a storm like that. One where everything seems chaotic and terrible and frightening - until you look up.

Maybe it's because I'm new to this phase of life where things often seem chaotic and terrible and frightening - until I look up.

I knew the storm was coming Saturday. It was expected. But that beautiful ray of light piercing through the darkness? Not even a little. It touched my heart, made me believe again in That Great Story.

You know the one.

The one where a guy gets swallowed by some ginormous fish - before being spit out on the very land he had tried to escape, the land where The Big Fisherman wanted him to be.

The one where a kid gets thrown into a scary black cave with some big mean kitties because he was determined to stay loyal to The Lion Tamer - who sent some shiny Assistants to protect the kid through the night.

The one where a little girl ends up magically pregnant - and angels sing and wrong is righted and death is defeated when Hope is born, after a few pushes and tears.

The one where that Hope is sacrificed on an executioner's cross - where He pays my bill in full, takes my blame, and awakens from death to triumphantly seat Himself at His Father's right hand.

Where He waits for me.

You know - That Story.

And I'll tell you what, when I heard our house being assaulted by those huge shards of ice, and I tried in vain to see through the sheets of falling wetness - then looked up into blue sky and golden sunshine,

I believed.

I believe He parted those skies like He's parted the sea, and like He parts the brush that frustratingly covers the path Mr. Handsome and I are walking. I believe He broke through Saturday's storm and the clouds and said, "Peace, be still" the same way He broke through the storm and the clouds on that raging Galilean sea and commanded the sky and the waves, "Peace, be still."

Right there, in that moment - in my little beating heart - that's what you would have heard if you could speak the language of it's beats.

Peace. Stillness.

Just look up there at Mr. Handsome's masterpiece of a shot.

Can't you feel it too?