We stood on that west-facing beach, the dark cloud on the northern horizon stretching across all the land and all the sea, from the far east to the far west, and the calm was before it, a quiet but eerie calm, barely a whisper of wind, gentle waves breaking on the shore. I knew in my heart that what is coming must come and, though I longed for that peace to never end, for Him to stay there with me on that peaceful shore, I knew that I had to face the coming storm.
My house is already secured on the immovable rock, protected from the oncoming tempest by sheer, stone cliffs, set like a stone fortress. The winds could not reach me on one side nor the waves on the other. I fear for my siblings, for my mother, for my friends. Why is it so difficult for them to believe their own eyes and see that all that is cannot have just happened by chance? In death no man can see, no man can hear, all is darkness and only God can enliven that dead spirit. Though it grieves me, I know that God is always good, and God is always at peace, even when He is at war. I need not fear. He said that His burden is light, so I must believe that whatever He has assigned for me to do in these final days must be something which, for the most part, I will want to do.
The only question I have is, how long will last the calm before the storm?
