When it rains,
it hurricanes,
flipping my umbrella inside out,
my world
upside down.
If I could see to face the sky,
I’d shout and shake my fists; I’d roar
into the rush of wind.
I’d demand you tell me
why
I’m afloat in this ocean and out in this storm.
I just don’t know.
I just
don’t
know.
And yet as long as I stay swimming still,
I can point myself
toward hope.
I am not drowning in this mess, and I
am
not
alone.
Above, beyond these clouds,
Heaven crackles with the lightning glory
of my God,
the silver in this gray.
He is the cloud that pours
all good and perfect gifts.
And when it rains,
it must be
grace.