The past few weeks have been filled with weather adventures.
Almost every day has carried brilliant sunshine, loud thunder, torrential rain, muggy sunsets and cool breeze. One does not leave the house without layers or rain jackets.
As I am preparing for my sermon this Sunday, texts I have been wrestling with all week, I am watching the afternoon storm slowly roll in. Today it is a gradual darkening of the sky. The lights in my office become more and more important, because the natural light is dimming.
I know it is coming, the darkness. The sudden noise. The fierce pounding of water. Water that is life giving, but can also be life taking- in drowned flower beds, rushing rivers and flooded homes.
But I can also trust, as the past few weeks have shone, that the sun will reveal itself again on the other side of the storm. We will all slowly emerge from homes, basements, and shelters to shake out the wet clothes, bail out our flower beds and splash in puddles.
Perhaps this is the way we can understand the joy of the psalmist:
You have turned my mourning into dancing;
you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
so that my soul may praise you and no be silent.
It is after the storm, when we emerge from our shelters we have build to hide and protect ourselves from the storms of life, it is then that we dance in the revealed sunlight.
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