It’s been storming a lot lately, Takes me back to that night. I'm always on the highway when it happens Right in the middle of nowhere, just me and God. I see the clouds roll in and my anguish rises as the rain falls Pouring, like the bottom fell out of the sky. Slowing me down, fleeting visibility, shallow breathing. No one ever answers those calls In the thick of it. When I can barely see brake lights, When I’m going 30 in the 70 and the windshield wipers aren’t moving fast enough, When I feel most alone, like I could die. I always think, “I should pull over, I should wait for this to pass.” But who knows when that will be? And I got places to be. So, I go through it, like I did that night. Except this time when the clouds rolled in, I could see the rain ahead. Mist surrounding the cars as they drove out of the storm. I braced myself, Turning the music down so I could see better And when the rain hit the car, I yelled. So loud. Until my throat stung. Please, God! Help me! Make it stop! Blinded by rain, not a brake light in sight, Fingers cramping from squeezing the steering wheel so tight. Terrified. And then, I heard His voice so clearly. “Slow down. It's a metaphor. Yes, it is storming. You will get through it. You are not racing. You are not alone. It is okay to slow down.” I believed Him. I took a deep breath, No longer concerned with my expected time of arrival, only a safe one. He said look to the left. So, I did. And there it was, God’s promise to never flood the earth. His reminder that He’s always with me; and that he's with Him. The rain began to slow down as I was making my way through, Settling into my highway blues. Taking in the beautiful imagery, the aftermath of the storm that I thought would succumb me. Light in front of me, darkness in the rear, The perfect epiphany that with God, there is no fear. He’s giving me beauty for ashes and redemption in ways that I'm beginning to see, Like allowing overcast and cumulonimbus clouds to bring me closer to Baby Three. He will protect me from storms, hold my tears, He feels my fear and says, "my child, rest, that's not from Me." He only requires that I pack light, traveling through the storm with my mustard seed, Listening for His voice when I can’t see, and taking heed when He says, “Follow Me.” I am safe. I am loved. I am protected. He is with me. And HE is with me.
The Diary Of A Grieving Mother: Ashan (a poem)