Travelers surprised by sudden rain. Hiroshige. 19th Century.
It is early Sunday morning. At this particular moment my world is bounded by words, a cup of coffee and the heavy wet of an approaching spring storm. This is no ordinary storm, however. To the west, it has left damage and death in its wake. And, in a few hours, people living on the East Coast will feel the sharp edge of this storm's teeth.
I know storms, wild and brutal storms. My childhood was spent on the Atlantic coast and hurricanes were an accepted part of each summer's potential. One particular memory is the time a hurricane severed a large limb from the oak tree in our front yard and hurled it through a bank of windows into our home.
A storm can be both thrilling and terrifying, an event that transcends logic. Or to put it another way, a storm is an opportunity to experience awe. And in some way it feels as if this journal entry is related to the last one. The idea that storms and the experience of God might be related. The idea that -- to know a storm at the outermost edges is vastly different from the relationship you experience with the storm as you near its heart.