Have you ever noticed what the wind drags across the ground, or floats through the air?

There was a strong wind on Friday, and I watched thousands of tiny pieces of trash dance on the floor of the freeway.  I saw plastic bags and strips of paper criss-cross lanes of traffic.  And then I noticed a large piece of cardboard almost still, pressed against the trunk of a tree.

For me, it was a powerful image of seasons of life.  You may feel pulled, pushed, tossed, tripped, tumbling and lost. But, you will eventually find stability within the storm, when the force of the experience presses you up against something or Someone strong and unmoving.

The windstorm also made me think of people who make their homes in the middle of nowhere.  Inhabitants that want to get away from it all, and live in the wild.  I certainly at times feel that desire in my soul. I just picture that even there – in a place in which you might run away, in a hidden hole to which you escaped and where everything is the same every day – the wind can reach that place.  You can wake up one morning, and everything is different because something new blew in.

I love the wind.  There are so many deep metaphors associated with it.  The most familiar of which as how we aren’t able to see it, but know it’s there by how it feels and what we see it do.

I feel God in the wind – surrounding me, stronger than me, bigger than me, but gently spinning over my delicate life.

 

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