I’m a little late to the party, but I recently bought a digital picture frame. I love to travel, especially to national parks. Every trip, I pack along the camera I bought as a college graduation present, ready to document the beautiful sights I’ll see.
For the better part of a decade, the thousands of photographs I took on those trips sat on a hard drive, out of sight, out of mind. Now instead, when I’m in my kitchen, I see a rotation of waterfalls, sunsets, and mountain vistas—all the Creator’s handiwork.
Looking back through all those pictures got me thinking about the incredible world we live in. It’s so interesting that God created a world of such stunning beauty. And it’s not static. It continues to change.
A photo from Olympic National Park brought this to mind. Tucked in the heart of a forest, I noticed a row of trees standing in a perfectly straight line. Thankfully, someone had the foresight to add a placard by the trail. Apparently, decades prior, a tree had fallen and become a “nurse log” for these trees. As the log rotted away, new trees sprouted along its length.
“As the log rotted away, new trees sprouted along its length.”
Unfortunately, most of the ways that our world changes aren’t so gentle. Floods alter the course of rivers. Volcanoes spew lava into the ocean, expanding the footprint of a landmass. Wildfires char mountainsides. Tornadoes level swathes of trees.
It might sound strange to say this, but when the earth was created, no cloud had ever crossed the sky, shaped like a sheep or a llama. Everything was fresh and new.
But things have changed, haven’t they?
Just as original sin infected humanity, Adam and Eve’s fall impacted the earth. Just as disasters bring destruction to the natural order, metaphorical storms wreak havoc on our faith. Like the floods that shift rivers, these storms affect the trajectory of our lives. They leave us asking questions. Usually, why?
It’s difficult to acknowledge that God—who calls Himself a loving Father—would allow pain in our lives. Not simply what most of us would call discipline, but trauma and torment. Even suffering caused by the very body of believers who were meant to be a safe haven.
“It’s difficult to acknowledge that God—who calls Himself a loving Father—would allow pain in our lives.”
Storms can lead us to withdraw. We turn back in the midst of the wind and the pouring rain. We find ourselves in the same boat as the disciples when they ran to wake Jesus on the Sea of Galilee.
In these moments, we’re reminded of Jesus’ words: count the cost. We see the things that have fallen out of our lives, the circumstances that have spun out of our control. And we think, “This, too, God?” as we lay down another desire.
My prayer is that your eyes are still open to see the good and beautiful things God has brought to your life, storm or no storm. When Jesus’ disciples faced stormy seas, the Bible doesn’t record Him taking a later boat. He knew the storm would come, and our Prince of Peace rested in the chaos, still sovereign, strong, and secure. These challenging moments are an incredible testament to that good Father who stands with us and sacrificed His only begotten Son to shield us from the worst disaster of all—eternity apart from Him.
That’s the strength we get to lean on in a storm.
“My prayer is that your eyes are still open to see the good and beautiful things God has brought to your life, storm or no storm.”
When that nurse log fell to the ground, it wasn’t for nothing. Through summers and winters, rain and drought, it protected those growing saplings. As Christians, all of us can make a difference that stands out long after we pass from this earth. Discipling one child can change generations of families. Your service and attitude can reshape the culture of your church. Don’t discount the power of even one kind and winsome conversation.
Even in a storm.
Friend, the wind may howl, and the rivers may rise, but our King is on the move in this magnificent, broken world. As we faithfully abide in the Vine, I hope years from now, sturdy, healthy things stand where we used to.
