Life's Storms

One recent Thursday, I received intelligence that Howgill Lane was blocked by a fallen tree from the storm, and was likely to hamper a dissenting minister as he cycled about his lawful business; I therefore determined to walk. I also thought that if I fell off a bicycle on account of ice and tempest in the same month, I’d be reckoned a double fool. The journey was wet and windy, but it was bearable because I had a destination- the little chapel atop Newby Hill which God’s providence has made my spiritual home. Had I been a wandering journeyman or vagrant, the storm would have been far less tolerable, knowing I had nowhere to go.

Much of life, in general, is stormy, difficult, awkward, dispiriting and dangerous. Yet we Christians know we are only passing through it, for we have somewhere better to be. The atheist thinks the storm his only shot at life, and has little hope of heaven or greater meaning. Life’s storms are nothing but a minor irritation when one sets them against the vast expanse of eternity in the euphoric bosom of Jesus.

Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
Carest thou not that we perish?"
How canst thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threat'ning
A grave in the angry deep?

The winds and the waves shall obey My will.
"Peace, be still!"
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea,
Or demons, or men, whatever it be,
No water can swallow the ship where lies
the Master of ocean and earth and skies:
They all shall sweetly obey My will.
"Peace, be still! Peace, be still!"
They all shall sweetly obey My will.
"Peace, peace, be still!"

-Mary Ann Baker