Storm Stories: Rain

I haven’t known our second anonymous Storm StoryTeller for very long, but when we first met I was so impressed by what I read that I immediately extended an invitation for the series.  While there is much I could say about this poem, I think the author’s work speaks for itself.  I hope you’ll get as much out of this contribution as I have.

THE HIDING PLACE

by Anonymous2

When the storms come
And they do 
When the wind is raging
The rain pounding
When your whole world crumbles
You’re falling
Fast 
When you hit the ground
Your bones break
Your heart aches
Your soul cries- even screams
Your dreams shatter 
When the life drains
When the earth shakes
When the blood pours 
The darkness
The pain
The aching
The hurt
The hunger
.
      .
            . 
“Lift your head my love, my child
Your weary battered head”
There is a shelter
A Hiding Place
A Strong Tower
A Deliverer
A Redeemer
A Hope 
He is not a man, that He should lie
Nor the son of man, that He should change His mind
He will cover you with His Feathers
And under His wings you will find
Refuge
Redemption
Restitution
Restoration 
In the very depths of your deepest despair
Underneath, are His Everlasting Arms
To cover
To enfold
To love
To carry
To heal 

 

A Love so divine,
A Hope so profound
So unthinkable 
“Lift your head my love, my child”
Your heart I mend
The rain is gone
The wind be still
The raging will end 
The morning will come
You will know My LOVE
I will restore to you beauty
When I lift you out of the ashes 
I will enrobe you with a garment of praise
Every tear I will wipe away
You will forget the shame of your youth
And remember no more… 
“Lift your head my precious, my love”
The high places are calling
My thoughts are upon you,
Look, your name is engraved in the palm of my hand
I will not give you up, I will not hand you over 
“Come my lovely, my child
The high places are calling, come up here
My lovely, my child”