Have you ever noticed that often, before a storm, there is an ominous quiet? In this season of Lent, that's a little what I'm experiencing.
Right now, the waters are still.
For a time, the wind is quiet.
Creation holds it's breath, ears perked forward.
Like they're waiting. Like the seventh trumpet is about to sound.
Tragedy approaches with murmurs, whispers, or silence.
Too soon, the day will come--that famous Friday.
Lord, hold us tight through this season. Your grip is all that can sustain us, protect us from that perfect storm. Grief approaches on stealthy feet. Amen.
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