The wind speaks. It can whisper a promise of spring or scream a curse of disaster. Hurricane Sandy made her way inland early this week taking out anything that dared to stand in her way. My husband and I watched it unfold online, on television, and through reports from family living in other cities.
Our area survived. The wind picked up, the rain came down, but our power didn’t even flicker. We carried on, business as usual, taking the odd detour around a fallen branch. Others were not as fortunate.
It brought to mind a spring day in 2011, another day the wind vented some pent-up aggression. Three trees crashed down within spitting distance of our house. A loud boom and a crack sent the neighbors scurrying into their backyard to investigate. I sat at the kitchen island and watched our backyard tree sway like a hula dancer wondering if she was about to take her final bow.
Literally and figuratively.
Our house held secure. Not everyone can say that. When a fourth boom rattled the pictures hanging on the walls I suspected we fought a losing battle. But still, my figurative foundation remained strong.
The boys happily played, oblivious to the raging storm. They took their cues from me and although I was concerned, I wasn’t worried.
So go ahead wind. Shake, rattle and roll. Send the rain. The streams can rise, and you can blow and beat against my home. Even if it falls my life’s foundation is on the Rock, the bedrock of Jesus. That can never be knocked out from under me.