I suppose it’s meant to be the verb close, meaning to end or shut something, or the associated noun, an end or conclusion. But I’m choosing the adjective close, meaning nearness or proximity in space or time, and I’m thinking of an hour we spent this morning — one of the inaptly named wee hours which are only the very longest in the twenty-four if one happens to be awake in them — crowded, all four of us, in the bathroom while tornado sirens wailed in the wet blackness out of doors.
October sent an ugly front of storms last night as its parting gift, and while my baby wondered at the extraordinary location for our ordinary wee-hours snuggle and my husband and toddler attempted a sort of sleep with blankets on the vinyl floor, I watched the red boxes move over the radar map on my phone screen and listened to the wind and rain roaring around our little old house.
The book of Job says that God makes the paths for rain and thunder, that lightnings go at His command. The gospel of Luke describes how even the winds and water obey Jesus’ voice. I’m powerless to stop even a drop of rain, yet I hold my phone close, as though somehow knowing where the storm is might protect me from its fury.
But whether I know or am ignorant of what is coming, my Lord not only knows, He owns and directs it all — all storms, all struggles, each ray of light, each drop of rain. He hold me close in His hand, from whence He has promised nothing shall snatch me. Shall I not trust Him?
©️Stacy Crouch 2018