Waiting Out the Storm

During every storm there is a single point of breaking - when ferocity pushes past containment and into the realms of unmanageable chaos. During every life, these "breaking points" happen far more often than once, but are seldom acknowledged for what they really are: like the storm - a natural, albeit undesirable, occurrence.

Winds crash against shore, waves flood the skies, and lightning cracks against trees: in these moments we are often rendered useless - buried in the ground, unable to pick ourselves back up - regardless of the otherwise fortunate circumstances that surround us.

Often, these "storms" come in disguise. They hide in the shadows of the sun: obscure their presence in the ashes of commonality. Sometimes, they can even drive us to feelings of shame or guilt. We see our happy lives and we begin to wonder if these words are true:

“It’s all in your head.”

“Snap out of it!"

"You'll get over it soon."

In such moments, we often lose the fight. We’ve given up saying "no" to that empty pounding inside. 

We've allowed the rain to soak our bones, until we are numb to the tempest that surrounds us; until we are oblivious to the reality before our eyes - the knowledge that these “breaking points” can carry even the strongest of trees with the deepest of roots plummeting down upon a desolate earth.

Sometimes there is no clarity to be found in our defeat: we do not know why we have fallen. Perhaps there were no warning winds, no forecasts of rains – and perhaps we find that we seem to be the only ones experiencing the tumultuous storm – but of this much I am certain: no matter the storm, there is no weakness in such a submission.

You are not insane because you feel the pressure of a storm that does not seem to be pressuring others. You are not broken for falling to a wind that has not pushed down everyone else. I promise you, the winds are real, “the tempest is raging,” and you are not alone.

Storms come, and storms go – but they are there all the same. They can incapacitate us for a while – nobody can protect you from the reality of that – but just as everyone is capable of falling, so too are we capable of getting back up.

I’m reminded of a poem by Tolkien:

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.”

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

May those who are poor, lost, withered, and cold find strength in the knowledge that they are not alone; they stand, rather, amidst the finest the world has to offer – men and women who have, themselves, risen from the depths and the ashes of human life, to inherit their birthright as rulers of the infinite heavens above.

We are all refugees in this storm.