After the Rain

In the midst of the storm, we seek shelter.

Well…most of us.

I remember as a child when there was a tornado warning. My mom was adamant that we stay away from the windows.

Me?

I was waiting to see it.

I’ve always been fascinated by tornadoes, twisters, hurricanes, and storms. To this day, Twister remains one of my favorite movies.

Maybe it was because chaos already felt familiar.

Maybe the wreckage was something I understood long before I had the words to explain it.

Because if I’m honest, that’s what my insides often felt like.

Torn apart by things that entered my life so quickly I didn’t have time to catch my breath.

Things that showed up without warning.

Things that just…happened.

And afterward, I was left picking up pieces I didn’t know how to share with anyone else.

Have you ever gotten one of those alerts on your phone?

SEVERE STORM WARNING.

You glance at the sky and think, They’re exaggerating. The sky is still clear. The weather people are always wrong.

Then out of nowhere, the rain starts.

The thunder rolls.

The winds howl.

The trees begin shaking.

Branches fall.

Things get tossed around.

Sometimes the storm lingers.

Sometimes it’s over almost as quickly as it arrived.

So fast that you barely have time to comprehend how something that happened in a matter of minutes could leave such a lasting impact.

But it can.

And it does.

Trauma works the same way.

There are storms that enter our lives and disrupt everything.

Some leave visible damage.

Others leave damage nobody can see.

Years later, we’re still sorting through the aftermath.

Still deciding what stays.

Still deciding what has to go.

Still trying to figure out what can be repaired and what needs to be released.

Sometimes we’re so focused on fixing what was broken that we forget to make room for what is trying to grow.

A broken crayon still colors.

But a broken cup spills its substance.

Some days I feel like the crayon.

Other days, I feel like the cup.

Leaking grief.

Leaking pain.

Leaking wounds from storms I thought had already passed.

Trying to hold together pieces that were never meant to stay broken forever.

I’m not saying we automatically forget what happened.

I don’t think that’s how healing works.

But the longer we hide those things inside of us, the longer they continue to occupy space they were never meant to own.

The longer they keep us from fully acknowledging:

Yes, it happened.

And yes, I’m still here.

We often ask, Why did this happen to me?

Trust me, I’ve asked.

God and I have had some very honest conversations.

You hear me?

I’ve asked about my childhood.

My losses.

My sexual trauma.

The things I’ve spent years trying to understand while learning how to heal.

And while I don’t have every answer, I’ve learned this:

People have free will.

People make choices.

People cause harm.

And God doesn’t remove the consequences of every choice people make.

But He also doesn’t abandon us in the aftermath.

We have the right to question.

We have the right to grieve.

We have the right to be angry.

But we also have the opportunity to hand those burdens over to the One who can carry them when we no longer can.

To seek therapy.

To seek community.

To seek resources.

To seek healing.

Because healing requires participation.

We have to do the work of releasing the things we never had control over in the first place.

Do not allow your trauma and grief to keep you hostage.

It has held some of us captive for far too long.

And yes, I’m speaking to myself, too.

There will be days when the aftermath still shows up.

Days when you have a “clean up on aisle seven.”

Days when old wounds feel new again.

Days when the storm echoes louder than the peace.

But after the cleanup…

Look around.

Look at how far you’ve come.

Look at what survived.

Look at who survived.

Take in the rainbow that came after the rain.

Pay attention to the message that emerged from the mess.

Honor what happened.

But don’t build your home there.

Because you are allowed to live after the storm.

You are allowed to laugh after the storm.

You are allowed to love after the storm.

You are allowed to dream after the storm.

You are allowed to heal after the storm.

And one day, you may realize the thing that was supposed to destroy you became proof that it couldn’t.

Sending love, light, and healing to anyone who needs it…

Even when we don’t always know how to receive it. 🫶🏽