The Metaphorical Storm

The wind was so furious that I could hardly keep my car on the road, blowing me side to side as I tried to steady myself.  My driver’s education teacher popped into my mind, “keep your hands at ten and two.” he said.  I realized with this storm it was going to take a lot more than ten and two. 

I kept traveling as the windshield was being plummeted with rain so hard at times I could not even see the front of my car let alone the road.  I could not stop; I had somewhere so important to go that a minute could not be wasted by stopping.  I passed car after car that had pulled to the side of the road to wait it out, maybe less courageous than I, but possibly far wiser. 

The sky was screaming and blowing with the might of a mother bear out to protect its cub, no matter the cost.

 This storm was angry, sad, scared, pushing forward and back not even knowing which direction to go.  Do I turn around?  Do I keep going with the knowledge that it was going to be a dangerous ride? Was my moving forward that important?  Other cars pulled over to stop and I imagine some did not even leave the garage. Did I even know where I was going?  Can I even endure this storm long enough to get through to my destination?

I cried with the sky, I screamed with the wind as I pushed forward with every ounce of my soul for  I remembered, all too well,  the day that I did not continue but instead quit, I gave up, and I can’t ride out this storm any more, no matter the cost.  “I am done!”

How could the sky be so dangerous and furious here but only miles away children were frolicking at the beach, families were absorbing the rays of a different sky and a different climate at the same time?  Am I the only one experiencing this storm? Were there really other people pulled to the side of the road as I willed my way through?  Would it ever pass and would I ever see the sun for myself again?

These are the questions I pondered as the sky opened up even more, it was not yet done!

Finally reaching the most important place that I could go that morning, I came in soaked from the run from my car to the building.  She asked,”Can I get you a towel?”  As I just sat down, tears rolling down my face I said no, “this storm is my life right now, every sweep of the wind blowing into no direction as all, every heavy drop from the angry sky plummeting on to the earth.”  I could only cry and let the storm run through me; there was no stopping it, no running from it but only the opportunity to ride it out. And I did.

I awoke to another day only to find that the previous day was behind me, the sun was shining, the crisp autumn air smelled fresh and clean from the fury of the day before. And upon that awaking I again remembered that I was among all people just experiencing life, the beautiful and the storm. That It comes in waves, in a pattern of ebb and flow, life and death.

While a few hours ago death seemed imminent, today was different.  It was easy, effortless to see life in the sunshine and the rain nurturing the dry ground.  The rains served such an amazing purpose, to allow the earth the refresh itself, to grow again.

 All the while I know that the storm will return again, it too, providing its purpose. For without the storm would we even be able to recognize the light?

Peace be with you,

Derinda

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