When I was young, I used to delight in going through my mother’s sheet music and plunking out the melody lines to songs from her past on our badly out-of-tune piano. I would croon my way through classics from Carmen, The King and I, and Porgy and Bess. She had stacks and stacks of beautiful, well-worn music, each song a treasure.
But one of my favorites was that gut-wrenching blues tune called, “Stormy Weather,” and I would dig deep inside my soul and belt out that song with every bit of passion my tiny voice could muster. I felt it. And I wished I had a huge, big voice that could really express all of the feelings it evoked in me.
The weathermen warn us – sometimes. Sometimes it strikes with no warning. It rages and swirls around us and pulls us into its gloomy gusts, making us feel powerless and hopeless. We fight for a while against it, imagining ourselves to be invincible and calling on every bit of stubbornness and determination and strength that lies within us. But the storm looms large and tosses us around until we feel so banged up we think we’ll never get up and walk again. All we can do is let go and wait it out.
And when we’re in it, we feel like it’s never going to end and that surely it’s the most awful storm in the history of the world.
Until it’s over.
And the beautiful, lovely, heart-opening peace that comes after a storm is worth every war behind us.
It comes. It always, always comes.