Reading: Psalm 18
In my distress I called to the LORD; I cried to my God for help.
From his temple he heard my voice; my cry came before him, into his ears.
The earth trembled and quaked, and the foundations of the mountains shook;
they trembled because he was angry.
Smoke rose from his nostrils; consuming fire came from his mouth,
burning coals blazed out of it.
He parted the heavens and came down; dark clouds were under his feet.
He mounted the cherubim and flew; he soared on the wings of the wind.
He made darkness his covering, his canopy around him—
the dark rain clouds of the sky.
Out of the brightness of his presence clouds advanced,
with hailstones and bolts of lightning.
The LORD thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High resounded.
He shot his arrows and scattered the enemy, with great bolts of lightning he routed them.
The valleys of the sea were exposed
and the foundations of the earth laid bare at your rebuke, LORD,
at the blast of breath from your nostrils. (NIV)
Maybe you are like me? I love thunderstorms. But watching a thunderstorm in a city is like watching a Christmas light display in broad daylight. There’s something missing. There’s no sense of broad expanse or sweeping grandeur.
I grew up on the prairies and for sheer awe there’s nothing quite like viewing a thunderstorm slowly building in the western sky. There you are working a field. There’s you, there’s miles of flat land, and there’s the sky. And the most active thing is the sky. Sometimes the storm clouds can hang there boiling and brooding for hours—lightning flashing in the distance. Then suddenly the air changes, the wind picks up and look out! Lightning! Thunder! Fierce gusts of wind. Rain. Hail. It all comes at you—comes at you with a vengeance.
I love a thunderstorm. It puts me in my place. It lets me see who I am. I am a small man in a big world—a world I cannot control. I’m a man at the mercy of God. I’m always at the mercy of God whether I see the storm clouds building or not.
In this psalm, David pictures the LORD riding the wings of the wind, thundering from heaven, not to harm him, but storming in to rescue him in response to his cry for help. That’s my God. That’s the picture of God that I need etched onto my mind. He is the God who hears and answers, the God who helps in times of need. In a vast world, He hears the cry of little, insignificant me. I love a thunderstorm. It lets me see the LORD’s love and grace.
Response: Heavenly Father, may I always see you as my helper. Rescue me. Amen.
Your Turn: Do the storms of life help you see God at work around you?