Yet Another Storm

Last night’s storm rolled through like it owned the place. Wind howling, lights out, CPAP useless, and me lying there thinking, Well… here we go again.

It’s funny how storms don’t ask permission. They don’t check your schedule. They don’t wait for a better time. They just show up—loud, inconvenient, and right when you thought you were finally catching your breath.

Life works the same way. You get one area calmed down, and another gust hits. You fix one thing, and something else starts rattling. Different day, same shaking.

But storms have a way of teaching us things we don’t learn in the sunshine. They slow us down. They strip away the illusion that we’re in control. And they remind us—sometimes painfully, sometimes gently—that God’s faithfulness isn’t tied to the weather.

Storms don’t expose our weakness as much as they reveal His steadiness. They show us what holds when everything else is shaking. They show us Who holds us when we can’t hold ourselves.

And here’s the part that settles me every time: He’s the same in the sunshine and the same in the blackout. The same when the power is humming and the same when the house goes dark. The same when life feels manageable and the same when it feels like too much.

If He didn’t leave me in the last storm, He’s not about to start now. Not in this one. Not in the next one. Not ever.

Storms come and go. But the One who stands with us in them—He stays.