We spent 4 glorious days at the beach. Erika had decided to stay away, rather than raining on our parade. We’d elected to be dangerous and unplug from responsibility while all our friends ran to the grocery store for batteries and bottled water. Instead of preparing, we’d lounged in comfy chairs under a fancy umbrella.
Our “re-entry to reality” came on the drive home. Even though the hurricane had dissipated, the strong wind and heavy rain still battered the terrain. We saw large branches in the road and lots of debris in people’s front yards.
“Storms really clean things up,” commented my man as we surveyed the damage.
Ain’t that the truth? I thought.
We’ve faced quite a downpour in our six years of marriage. Relentless squalls have “cleaned me up” plenty.
I’m less selfish, more forbearing, and quicker to forgive.
Storm gusts have washed away the grime and left lots of grit.
I want to be that girl who puts on her dancing shoes when the blast blows in rather than drowning in a puddle of tears.
One storm at a time, my steps go stronger.
Something to think about…
I’m sharing “Dance in the Rain” with like-minded friends at Faith-Filled Friday.
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