In our area March and April tend to be a little scary in terms of weather. Right as everything is beginning to turn green and flowers are blooming, tornado warnings are also not uncommon. Spring forecasts are sporadic and unpredictable, much like the storms of life.

Though we do our best to prepare for stormy weather, both physical and spiritual, sometimes a tempest blows through that wreaks devastation from which we feel as though we’ll never recover. Even once the debris has been cleaned up and homes have been rebuilt, scars remain. Rarely does anything, after destruction, return to what it was before.

Looking around at the chaos after a storm, I’m reminded of how different I’ve become after weathering painful losses and trials I thought would break me. Though the metaphorical weather eventually passed, the version of me that was left standing was forever altered, likely in ways that I haven’t fully come to understand.

Suffering involves such deeply personal, customized types of storms. I see evidence of the hand of God in the way we uniquely walk through our experiences. What He teaches us in the process and in the way He delivers us is so individual, so personally tailored to develop us into what He has called us to be, if only we choose to take His hand as we go through it.

I’ve been through troubles where I’ve clung to God in utmost trust and faith, and I’ve been through troubles where I stomped angrily through the squall to show just how indignant I was that He was allowing it to go on. Neither are pleasant, but one way leads to a deeper understanding of Him and the consecration that sets us free.

Presenting your body as a living sacrifice sounds so romantic, until you find yourself called to do it. You know that life is hard. You know it can be brutal. You’ve been taught that we are to share in the sufferings of Christ if we are to be triumphant in the Christian way of life. But it often isn’t easy to remember that whatever has the potential to be your undoing can be your victory instead. The storm always looks like it will kill you.

Over the years I’ve had to make the choice again and again – will I allow this to be my defeat? Do I tap out? Should I just let go of the hand that holds me and get washed out to sea? Funny thing, though – I’ve let go before and still never drowned. He hangs on, even when we don’t.

When it’s raging out there, all I can do is hold fast and wait for the peace that comes when the clouds break. I hope I never lose sight of the growth and potential that lies ahead of me – but even when I do, clear blue skies will greet me once again, and I pray I’ll behold the beauty with more awe and wonder than before.