The wind whips up
As skies darken.
It’s not her storm,
She didn’t make it.
All goes black with clouds covering the sun,
Broken only by flash of light and explosion of sound.
Shaven and shorn so her hands do nothing for her head,
She knows she must dance the storm.
The air grows heavy.
Too much moisture waiting to break.
It’s not her storm.
She cannot find the rhythm of nature’s pattern.
The wind and darkness gain intensity,
Dazzling the senses into dysfunction.
She can’t find His Voice,
So she thinks she dances this storm alone.
Another thunder-clap breaks,
But the rain doesn’t come yet.
She sighs and closes her eyes,
Blocking interference to recall His Words.
The rain suddenly pelts down,
And still no rhythm comes.
She cannot dance this fight.
She knows she is to sit this one out.
Wind whips, thunder claps,
Lightning blazes, rain pelts.
She knows His Voice speaks peace.
He could stop the storm, but He stops her instead.
Darkness grows as the storm intensifies.
With eyes shut tight she sits and waits.
As suddenly as the storm came, it ends.
She just sits as the Son shines down.
A rainbow promises eventual perpetual victory–
Never in this life, always in the next.