The first rainstorm in weeks (months?) hit my little corner of the Midwest on Saturday night. I woke up at 3 am to flashing lights outside every window. No booming thunder, simply beams of flashing lightning bolts. But without the subsequent thunder, the light’s origin left me confounded.
And so I began my quest. Out of bed and on my feet, I wandered around to each window. Has to be a police car, I said. Or strobe lights? Faulty middle-of-the-night logic at play, I just couldn’t figure it out.
Rain continued to pour, and the thunder arrived with 4 am. But at the moment, it all seemed off. Without all the puzzle pieces, I couldn’t grasp the full picture.
And so it goes with our walk of faith and walks of life sometimes, and mine these days. Sometimes we don’t see the whole picture and so what’s happening now feels bewildering and baffling and just completely ridiculous.
Like the lightning without the thunder, incomprehensible. We wonder why, wonder how, wonder if. We frantically wonder what in this world is coming next.
What we need to grip our life around, in these moments: We’re seeing a fraction, a slice, a small bit of the picture.
This, too, is part of God’s will. This, in its totally-yucky, both over and under-whelming-ness, this chaos . . . this is part of what someone far wiser and far stronger put into play.
We are far stronger than we think. (He’s made us that way). And in moments of doubt, we can face confusion knowing we’re equipped to handle it.
Like lightning without thunder, tears without immediate resolution can shake us. In these moments, it’s an act of faith to fold our hands. In these moments, it’s an act of faith to cower from the world because we are weak but He is strong.
It’s an act of faith to see the lightning and trust that the sweet rumble of bold thunder isn’t far behind.