I’m sweating. The concert was wonderful, but a thousand people packed into a small space taxed the air conditioners for the chapel. It had been sweltering outside when I entered. Storms passed by during the concert. Maybe, maybe outside it is nice. I excuse myself from the conversation, ready to head home. I step outside, hoping to greet a cool night.
I wilt. Oh, a storm passed by, but it only made things more humid. The dark air presses in, choking me. The warmth steals any energy the concert has given.
The weather does not care. It does not care that I struggle to breathe. It does not care that where I was sweating before, now I am dripping more than I would had I jumped into a lake. I am smaller than the weather, and it does not care.
I limp to my car, far away on the other side of an endless parking lot. Above the sky flashes with heat lightning. It is so far above me I cannot hear the rumbles; I only see the bright bursts of white, dancing from cloud to cloud with wild abandon. How high above the heavens are above the earth, that I cannot even discern the rumble of the beats that such energy leaps to!
But the lightning doesn’t care. It does not care that I admire its beauty from afar, mute in wonder at the glories of creation. It does not care that so far below it a little gnat scurries on a blotch on the ground. I am smaller than the lightning, and it does not care.
God made the lightning to dance. He made the weather to bless. He fashioned it with a thought, with a word, with a sentence spoken into the silence. He is bigger than the weather. He is bigger than the lightning.
The weather does not care if I live or die. (more…)