I believe in storms. I have seen that a raging thunderstorm, however terrifying when you’re in its midst, is gorgeous when viewed from inside a shelter. However, sometimes we get caught out in the storm: part of the time we stand outside the window peering into our “home,” being the very cause of our own suffering. Other times, we’re alone and in the open because of negligence: vulnerable. Sometimes, we’re somewhere in between. Occasionally, we view other’s storms from a distance. We see a threatening grey wall in all its terror, in all its beauty.
There are other storms. Snow storms lack the intensity and heat of the summer monsoons, but the subtly is overwhelming. It’s silent, and cold, and harsh, but appears quite harmless; we believe this until we find ourselves knee deep in it. Often the wind picks up and the tiny, delicate flakes (which were the objects of our admiration moments before) start turning into projectiles, pelting you in the face, rubbing you raw. Frequently we try to look ahead and go blind because of it. But occasionally, the clouds are a gentle shade of grey and the snow cascades from the sky, promising a lush spring.
Similarly, there is sleet. The cold, robbing devil takes the breath from the depths of your chest and spits it back in your face. It’s never without a bone-chilling wind and creates deafening misery. It sinks into every crevice and leaves it cold and wet.
Sometimes we encounter a spring storm, one which is genial and swift. It hangs in the sky and although it prevents us from doing what we want to do, it teaches us to be patient and flexible, no matter the situation.
These storms empower and advance us; they teach us the things which are vital to know. I have seen many storms. I have been caught in, torn apart by, and abandoned in all too many. However, these storms in my life have molded me into someone I like to think of as somewhat strong. The challenge of spending the majority of my childhood years knowing I was abandoned by my father should have destroyed me. I could have let myself be torn apart by the emptiness, but I made it, and my “roots” are deep and ready for whatever is next. Coming across storms is a blessing and however much we may not appreciate them at the time, they are absolutely necessary and nourishing. Storms make us who we are.
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