In the wind

We saw the rain on one side of the bus as we journeyed to Mont Saint Michel last week. The wind blew the rain drops onto half of the windows so that it appeared that the bus split the storm. Split the storm it did, because when we arrived at the shuttle to take us to the mount, the clouds parted and the sun shone.

The sun shone and the winds blew, so strongly that we could have nearly fallen into it and let it hold us upright with its force. It blew salty sea micro droplets onto our skin, into our hair. It made the walk harder but not less pleasant. The sun still shone and heated our skin while we basked in the salty air and the old abbey.

Tonight, the wind blows steadily in the aftermath of a rainstorm outside my room. I can feel it stirring the trees and the grass and whisking everything up and settling it down somewhere else.

I need the wind to blow. I love to stand in the dark with my eyes closed, to feel the wind on my skin and hear it rushing around me. Not to see it because, who can? Unless it’s salty, it won’t be good to taste, and even then…  The smell is fresh, full of newness, air from somewhere else.

God wasn’t in the strong wind for Moses. He was in the still, small voice, because God needed Moses to know that battles aren’t won by might or by power but by His Spirit, which can win battles with a whisper.

But God is in the wind, for me, because God wants me to feel how He brushes past me and around me, always circling back to blow through my life again. He picks things up and deposits them elsewhere, sometimes pulling them out of my reach, sometimes placing new things beside me.

He wants me to feel Him beside me, around me, filling my lungs and brushing past my closed eyelids. I close my eyes because I don’t have to watch Him work to know that it’s good.


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