You see, it is not the storm itself we fear but the aftermath of what it leaves behind.įor some of us, being in a personal relationship is like trying to control a powerful, destructive storm. In our grief, we examine the damage to others and ourselves and ask the question, Why? Left helpless and alone in a sea of destruction and sorrow, we choke back painful tears and cry out to God, How could this happen? and What do I do now? When this happens, we arrive at the stark realization that control was just an illusion. Indeed, on those occasions when we have triumphed over the storm, we were in control.īut sometimes, despite the warnings signs, storm clouds collide and destroy our weatherproof homes, crushing them with fantastic, intense power. We rejoice each time we escape a storm’s rage and feel relieved when the threat of destruction has passed. At this very moment, satellites are in continuous orbit above our world, scanning the planet for signs of trouble and warning us of pending atmospheric doom. Today, our homes are weatherproof and, for the most part, save us from the sky’s wrath. When ominous storm clouds collided on the horizon, we prayed to ancient gods to shield us from nature’s fury.Īs decades turned into centuries, we advanced technologically and learned to craft stronger, mightier shelters made of concrete and glass, daring the storms to take their best shot. During early years, our species huddled in caves, pieced together flimsy shelters made of sticks and animal skins, and hid under cliffs for protection from the sky. WE HAVE FEARED STORMS since the beginning. And now the land and sea are not distinct, all is the sea-a sea without a shore. Any building that has stood firm, surviving the great disaster undamaged still has its roof drowned by the highest waves, and its towers buried below the flood.
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