Saturday, May 16, 2009


Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake, came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over
his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

Then a voice said to him, "What are you doing here, Elijah?". . .

(1 Kings 19:11-13)

How often has God blown through the ordered life I've made, rattled the windows, turned over the flower pots, struck the trees with fire from the sky, and kicked up the dust from hidden spaces?

He shakes the foundation of my house so that it may stand.

Of course, He is not the wind. Nor is He the fire. He is the quiet voice that comes afterwards. The rain and the wind and the fire are driven before Him like horses and a chariot carrying their esteemed passenger to the future.

I must be like Elijah and wrap myself in my cloak and stand still. The Lord will speak, if only because He loves me.

I know that joy will come with His voice. Did Elijah know it? Joy like sunshine spilling over the tossed and scorched landscape. New life, green and tender, will spring up in its light.

It is the rain and the wind and the fire that have taught me: joy is a kind of light.

In foolish moments, I have disregarded it as a small and humble thing. I have lost it. I have despaired of ever recovering it. Then I have danced to its melody when I found it again. I know now that I was made for joy and that the joy of the Lord is my strength. May I always remember this as clearly as I do when my back is bent against rain and wind and fire.

Joy is light on my path. Joy is light in my eyes. Joy comes at the sound of His voice.

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