Can you hear the thunder echoing through our mountain valley?
The air is heavy.
The storm is coming.
What are the little ones thinking right now? Can they find a place to be safe and dry?
Six days ago a storm came up just like this. The first hailstones that fell in our yard were the size of softballs and grapefruits. For twenty, maybe thirty minutes the biggest hail I’ve ever seen crashed down from the skies on Mbabane leaving massive destruction of homes, autos and livestock.
Five people died.
Missionary friends saved the life of a man who was caught out in the hail with no place to hide. They got him into their truck and took him to their home.
“You have saved my life, thank you,” he gushed.
What does this storm hold today? One thing for sure, the car is in the garage. Last time I was too late—the hail was much too big and fast to try to get it in. Windows smashed and sledge hammer sized dents all over it.
And even now the little ones who have been hammered by hunger, abuse and AIDS are scampering for shelter. Many get under trees—trees that attract killer lightning.
Oh, Jesus, shelter the children like you would have Jerusalem—under your wings.
Follow up:
I wrote that yesterday.
The storm didn’t come.
Quite a lesson…
Let’s call it a climatologically illustrated sermon about not fearing threats. Don’t ignore warnings, but don’t let caution give way to fear.
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