On the plane home…
We get above the clouds, and the sun breaks through. No more rain. Just fresh sunlight. And the storm clouds are still there…just below us now.
All I can see is sun. Glorious. There’s always hope, because He is always there. When it rains I still know He reigns.
So I get up. He takes my hand. And I fly. Freely. Because grace is that huge. That unbelievable. So bright that I blink. Believe. Can’t deny that He is powerful. And He loves me.
Faced darkness in a tomb so I can enjoy the light of His resurrection. The glory of this God came and died for me.
So I “lift up my eyes. Where does my help come from?” The Lord. Who made the rain clouds to astonish me with the sun.
“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121:1,2)