My friend called me this afternoon.  In the time between storms, he called because he was sure I would have some words of encouragement.

A surgery last week brought him excruciating pain, so much more than he imagined, and he is looking for brighter days.

I wrote that it was in the time between storms.  Hail fell yesterday where I live—more hail than I have ever seen at one time.  The car outside my window is covered in divots.  Siding on my house has holes in it.  Come to think of it, the two windows behind the love seat on which the Lovely Lady sits stitching have holes in them, and cracks across the width of them.

Another storm is roiling in the sky above as I write.  Extremely dangerous, the weather surmisers tell us.

I told the Lovely Lady I was going to sit at my computer for a few minutes and dare the storm to stop me.  The jury is still out.  If I were a betting man, after the last week I’ve experienced, I would bet heavily on the storm.

And yet.

I sat in my armchair earlier, as I talked with my friend, some 800 miles away, and I told him my encouraging words. 

In between the storms.

Last week?  It was what most would call a disaster.  Both of my vehicles, dependable to a fault for the last several years, required major work.  Over a thousand dollars for each one of them, just so they could sit at the ready in the driveway once more—ready to roar into life at the turn of a key.

I had to have a root canal, too.  Costing me closer to two thousand dollars than otherwise, it wasn’t an enjoyable experience, however you frame it.

My neighbor had a stroke last week, too.  She’s in the hospital right now, awaiting a move to rehab, and from there, only her Creator knows what’s next.

And, moments before I went to the coffee shop yesterday to experience the hailstorm, with its machine-gun explosiveness on the metal roof and walls, punching divots in my just-repaired car, I got word that a long-time friend and business colleague had passed away.  Tears flowed as I left my house to keep my appointment with a young friend in that place.

Oh.

This doesn’t seem very encouraging, does it?  I said I gave my friend encouraging words as I spoke with him on the phone just a few moments ago, didn’t I?

I’m sure I did.

Surprisingly, I spent the last week thinking about good things—memories that will never fade, new experiences that meld with the unhappy junk and keep a light shining before my eyes on the dark days.  I did.

I’ve got more important matters to consider than the foolishness of dental bills and checks written to mechanics.

Last week, as I learned of the cost for the repair to one of my vehicles, a young man whom I’ve known all of his forty-some years called me and offered to pay the bill for me.

I can’t help it.  My mind immediately—instantly—heard those footsteps on the old stairs in that Victorian home in which my children grew up.  They were the footsteps of a seven-year-old boy scuffing down the carpeted treads an hour-and-a-half after he had climbed them to go to bed.

We had told the kids at the dinner table that we had a tax payment to make and no money with which to pay it.  We reassured them that we were trusting a God who provides.

The scuffing footsteps reached the ground level, and the cute little kid, carrying a metal bank in his hands, came to where I sat.  Handing it to me, he told me he wanted me to have all the money he had been saving for a new skateboard.

Tears filled my eyes as I, returning to the present, told the boy, now a father himself, how much I appreciated it, but that there was no need.

Can you see the light shining? 

Two days later, as I sat stranded in the dental specialist’s parking lot forty miles from home, with the darkness of worry lowering onto my head, I couldn’t help but wonder who would be able to come to my rescue, and I called my mechanic.

“Don’t bother with a tow truck, Paul.  I’ll just pick your vehicle up with my car carrier.  No, no need for you to wait for me.  My wife is coming over right now to get you home.  And, she’ll have the key to a car you can borrow until yours is repaired.”

Is it brighter out here yet?

I don’t want the reader to think I’m insensitive to danger, to sadness, to being overwhelmed with troubles.  I feel them acutely.  And, I don’t advocate ignoring them. 

I don’t.

But, I know that above the clouds, the sun is still shining radiantly.  I know that after the storm, we’re as likely to hear the birds singing sweetly. 

And the darkness won’t ever defeat the light.

It won’t.

The tornado warning sirens have been sounding for the last twenty minutes, as I’ve been writing.  The Lovely Lady has long since left her more exposed perch in the den and made her way down to my man cave to sit under the stairs and listen to the storm reports.

Even with the storm warning screaming outside, I won’t be persuaded to despair.

There is still light enough to see the road ahead clearly.

As the worship service at our local fellowship ended yesterday, the worship pastor read some words from the Psalmist to me.

“He who resides in the shade of the Most High will find rest in the shelter of the One who rules over all of creation.”

Yes, I’m certain they were specifically for me.  The pastor might tell you differently.

But now, they’re specifically for you.  Even in the storm.

Rest.  And, be encouraged.

The storm will pass.

His love never will.

 

“Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
    will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
    He is my God, and I trust him.”
(Psalm 91:1-2, NLT)

“The Lord says, ‘I will rescue those who love me.
    I will protect those who trust in my name.
When they call on me, I will answer;
    I will be with them in trouble.
    I will rescue and honor them.
I will reward them with a long life
    and give them my salvation.’”
(Psalm 91:14-16, NLT)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2025. All Rights Reserved.