Helpless. Caught in the jaws of a roaring, wrathful wind. Whipped by the terror of a force so incredible- one that sends me scurrying back to childhood- I sit helpless before my laptop screen in an attempt to find some distraction that might lure me into a happily somnulant state. (So what if I can’t spell the word!). I pray, beseeching Divine benevolence to show grace. And yet, how dare I even ask? Painfully aware of the tragedy that has so recently visited those across the Pacific, I feel twinges of guilt at my lapse into cowardice. As if to answer me with comfort, the strains of “a mighty fortress is our God” float from the iTunes classical music station to my welcoming ears. Just a phrase before breaking into another medley. But answer enough. For though I have not seen the wind, it’s presence breaks upon me with the torn and toppled limbs of great firs and smashing gates. Banging, banging against the north side of the house like a doomsday bell. As if God Himself were pounding the floor of heaven in an inconsolable grief, wrapped in a banner of interwoven and shattered souls. Immortal, invisible, in light inaccessible, hidden from our eyes- clothed in the whirlwind and bearing as a standard the pathos of eternity. Hide me in the eye of the storm O God- in the cleft of the rock shelter those who call upon your Name.