This morning there is a lovely thunderstorm interrupting the quiet on the river. It's my favorite kind--the ones that slowly grumble and meander through the air. I don't care for the vicious storms that make you want to cling to your babies in the tub. I don't like to see the ones that come across the river. I hate the snap and the sizzle and the angry ones--they always make me hold my breath until the thunder comes.
But the slow storms?
Bring 'em on.
I could listen to them all day long.
I'm the only one stirring in the house right now. Buster was kind enough to get up long enough to greet me and to be let out, but even he went back to bed this morning. The house is nice and quiet and I'm enjoying my coffee and thoughts in the dark. There are funny texts from friends and blog posts that make me teary. There are ideas and things that I ponder. There are stories and memories that make me smile. There are honest words written in my journal, and these Words always manage to bring me comfort:
The rain starts to fall a little quicker. It beats on the tin roof of our back porch and the thunder becomes slightly louder. The river and the sky are almost the same color and it's hard to tell where the sky ends and the water begins in some places. The lightning streaks across the sky and the crackle of thunder takes its sweet time.
My heart fills with a quiet hope--the kind of hope that comes from some place deep, deep down. The kind of hope that believes that one day all will be set right again. I'm content with the state of affairs this morning, willing my heart to believe the words of 1 Cor. 16:13. There are signs of life, and evidence that He is moving in the hearts of this community and in His people.
And His presence is like this thunderstorm--calming and gentle as He stirs the waters of my heart.