The rain splattered hard against the window.
Just didn’t seem right for the desert.
I rolled the legs of my soaked jeans down and noticed the damp marks my feet were leaving on the tile floor. My friend laughed at me and clicked her tongue, the cultural sign of disapproval here. Kind of like a “girl, what were you thinking?”
It hadn’t rained since I arrived, and they’re just as unequipped for rain in this country as the South is for snow. A little rain, and full-scale rivers start flowing right down the middle of the street.
Hopeless. Hopeless for me … and for my Toms.
I’ve been visiting this country for a few weeks now, and what I’ve learned already is that there’s so much I don’t know. I’ve had to get comfy with diving out confidently on foot into fast-moving traffic and just trust that cars will stop. (They do.) I’ve learned what a forecast of “dust” is.
And I’ve learned what real fear looks like.
“Grace, are you afraid of thunder?”
She asked me that as I worked on drying out my shoes.
“Did you hear all the thunder last night?”
No, I didn’t. I told her as much.
“Really? It kept me awake all night. I’m so scared of thunder.”
“It reminds me of God.”
It reminds me of God, too, I thought, but I didn’t say it – mainly because I figured it reminded us of God for very different reasons.
“Why does it remind you of God?”
“Because it makes me think of how bad judgment day is going to be. And I am really scared of judgment day.”
In my friend’s beliefs, all her actions will be weighed out on judgment day. If she comes out with more good than bad, then she’s in the clear. If not …
“When I do bad things, I get afraid that I will die right then, before I have time to do more good things.”
As I looked in my friend’s eyes, all I saw reflected there was fear.
Here she sat in front of me, concerned about buying the right dress to impress a guy she liked at a party … texting her friends … cruising Facebook …
And fearing eternity hard-core.
Oh, God. Please put the fear in me for the sake of your name among these people.
Every moment, every second, I feel ill equipped to be a bearer of hope to dark places. At all times of day, the darkness pounds against my window with the fervor of a desert rainstorm, threatening to wash away seeds planted, threatening to steal my joy or my confidence, threatening to distract me with stray thoughts or insecurities or concerns.
It’s loud sometimes. It shakes me.
And then I remember that the God who made the thunder loves me. He’s broken the scales holding my worthless rags. He’s clothed me as a daughter.
And He loves my friend.
What hope … for you, for me … for a world of people enslaved by darkness who don’t know the One who can calm the storm. For Him and for them, we trust His power behind the thunder, we remember He’s bigger than the darkness, we put our drenched shoes back on … and we press on.
In Him, we have nothing to fear.