Shelter in the Storm

As I sit down to write this column, news is coming in of tragedy in the Donegal International Rally. It’s utterly heart-breaking—a sunny summer’s day of laughter and excitement closes wrapped in the dark clouds of numbness and grief.

Storms come uninvited and unexpected into our lives—three Sundays ago, as I came out of church, I got a message from one of my brothers, “Ring me when you get this”. My father had had a massive stroke. Out of nowhere. A couple of days later he was gone. We’re still trying to take it in.

Storms hit—storms of tragedy, bereavement and grief. They recede, leaving wreckage and heartbreak. Time is no healer; it is just the space in which we try to get used to the wreckage.  

Our fragility in the face of storms can leave us gasping for breath, for words, for answers. Psalm 57 is one of those places I find myself turning to when the storms hit:

Be merciful to me, O God,
    be merciful to me,
    for in you my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,
    till the storms of destruction pass by.

The storms are howling around the writer. Destruction is threatening to sweep him away. Yet he has hope, he has somewhere to turn. How thankful I am that there is somewhere to turn.

Trouble will either push us away from God, or to God. This writer is letting it push him to God, seeking refuge and safety. I love what he says.

He tells me there is a refuge from storms—even the most destructive ones. The storms, the tragedies, don’t have to destroy us, or overwhelm us. They feel like they will, but there is a place to go, a place that can’t be flattened by them. You can find shelter until disaster has passed by.

There is also tenderness. That little phrase “in the shadow of your wings” captures my heart as I think of those facing storms. A mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings in a storm—there is closeness and tenderness. God doesn’t simply provide help from a distance. He offers to come down beside you into your troubles and to be there with you. You will not be alone.

And he tells me there is hope—the little word ‘until’ tells me that heartache isn’t the last word. There is a limit. There is an “until disaster has passed by”. Right now, in the heart of the storm, it doesn’t seem like it. It seems like it will never end. But it will, and God will provide the strength and help we need. If we look to Him, He will bring us through.

How can I be so sure? If you read on in Psalm 57 you find the writer’s prayer is answered, but something else underlines it—The Cross.

There we see a God who stepped into the storm, into the darkness and pain of this broken world, to be with us. There He takes the battering so that all who come to Him will find refuge. There we see that He isn’t a God who offers help from a distance; He comes close to provide shelter and hope.

I don’t have answers to why particular storms hit. But sitting in the storm of the last few weeks, I find I don’t need answers as much as I need somewhere to shelter. And the sheltering God of Psalm 57 is holding true. In your storm, why not take these words, let them lead you to his shelter, and I pray that you will find comfort, refuge, tenderness and hope in Him.