My first job post-college was at a Catholic school. Some of the women on staff were nuns, and women of great faith. When big prayers were needed, one nun used the phrase “storm the heavens.”
The summer-long drought seems to be coming to and end, and thunder and lightning and grey skies greet us often.
To storm is get all-encompassing. Storms pour, drench, drown. Storms absolutely dominate. Storms render umbrellas useless.
To storm is to press forward, to get fierce and ferocious. To focus. To use all of one’s might. Storms are powerful.
And so to storm the heavens is an eloquent picture of what it means to pray.
We come before a sovereign, undeniably powerful God. We come not with a pitter-patter of tiny feet, but with big, bold, intentional footsteps. And He hears us. We storm the heavens and He hears us loud and clear. In our darkest moments, He hears our prayers. We come before a God who will never ignore our storms.
On a personal note . . . If you’re the type, Mr. S. and I would relish your prayers this afternoon. Can’t share the details until later, but prayers for resolution and peace and joy no matter what — and that I can support him well in what he’s walking through — oh, friends, would you storm the heavens with us today? Thank you, thank you, thank you.