Notes from Yesterday….
The day a child is born…there is none like it.
In the quiet dark of yesterday’s beginning, we slipped home with our bundled babe, unwashed and still smelling of heaven. And when the sun dawned, rose-tinged and hopeful, we named her. Shalom. The day a child is born is a day promising peace.
I slept. Shalom breathed first breaths of this world and grew…and slept too. The day, her first one, drifted away, sweet and pungent.
And the sky grew too, black and ominous. Swelling and seething, a storm brewed to the south. I pulled this swaddling of pink close and retreated to the refuge of the basement.
And the sky bore down, snapping and ripping. Like a driving blizzard, the rain pounded and smattered, deluging the world in a blinding blur of strange white-green. And I clung to this child, but a few hours old, named Shalom. The day a child is born is a day still splattered with the ache of this earth.
Her father’s voice crackled through the cell: Roads blocked by shattered trees, hydro lines dangling and dragging across mud-drenched roads. The calm of our rural world torn up by a raging sky—but were Shalom and I safe? Yes, I had peace and all was well.
Finally, the beaten countryside was tossed from the storm’s teeth, and dazed farm families trickled out of foxholes to assess damage. Pelted corn fields, splintered trees, buildings strewn and crumpled…lives shaken and swirling. I held babe close, pressing my cheek against new, warm flesh. Yes, Shalom. Shalom.
Day’s end came…the end of her first day. Cradling her, we sat watching the golden sun setting in the west, the black of storm distant in the north east…and soft rain sprinkling upon our weary, trampled world.
And then, there it was—this arch across the heavens, this brilliant bow of ancient, endless promise sent to soothe an anxious world. Breathless, we gazed at this rainbow, at this child. Our hearts seized hold of His assurance, relieved, nodding with smiling consent.
At the end of a long day, we heard His voice, His heart. That from the heavens there always comes the promise—of hope, of His faithfulness, of good. Always.
And that there always is—–that there always can be—-peace in the midst of the storm.
Lord, You speak so clearly some days…like yesterday. Now if I can only clearly remember. Peace in the midst of any and all storms….it is a promise from You.
Wednesday, June 15th, 2005 | Uncategorized