It’s been storming pretty wildly here in Mobile. I first thought the thin walls of this house were charming, as I’d wake up to the sound of chirping birds. But for two nights now, we’ve laid awake shivering to the noise of booming thunder and rapids of rainfall gushing off our roof. We’ve shared beds with our frightened girls as lightening repeatedly illuminated their wide eyes.
A song we sang Sunday morning brightened my perspective on the storms. We sang to and of God, “clothed in rainbows/ of living color/ flashes of lightening/ rolls of thunder”.
I could only laugh at the reminder of what a holy, huge God we serve. I’d been immersed in unpacking boxes, finding homes for forks, toothbrushes, extra sheets. How did I let these menial tasks avert my eyes from the God who wears lightening as an accessory?
We moved to Mobile knowing we’re meant to serve here. We’re meant to think past the walls of this old house. So I sit curled under a blanket this morning, feeling thunder shake the couch beneath me, knowing my girls may wake soon in tears at the crashing sound they just heard…
… and I am thankful. I am thankful for thin walls that cause me to hear the deafening sound of our God. A God whose grace is as big as His frightening power. Whose mercy extends as far as His justice. Whose wrath fell on Jesus, rather than on us, because His love for us is louder than the storm raging outside my door.