The Storm

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The storm is raging. It literally seems like someone has thrown you into a sea of anger. The waves mount up furiously on each side of you, crackling as they crash down on your splintered raft, only large enough to sit on and clutch for your life. The sky is a cold black. Your hands are cut from the raft, your head is spinning, and your lip stings and tingles from the cruel salty water invading yet another cut. You are drenched, and can hardly squint through the pouring rain and hair on your face. You were screaming, until you lost your voice. Now you hope someone might hear your raspy whispers for help. Right before you decide to give up, you see something. Light. You see someone. He is standing on the water. Another waves crashes down. You resurface the water, breathing heavily, but He is still there, and He is dry. The area around Him is calm; the sky blue; the waves flat. He holds out His hands in a hug-like matter. You wonder what He is doing, and then you see holes in His hands, but the holes are not bleeding. It is now that you realize that He is looking you in the eyes. Although the rage around you deafens your ears, you hear Him whisper, "Come, unto me. Do not be afraid. I am here to deliver you. I gave up my life, my glory, my respect, for this moment. I love you. Trust me. Come." His face shines as a compassionate smile spreads gently across his face. You keep your eyes on his, as a tear slides down your cheek. You step onto the water. You take his hand. The storm ceases. Although he is wearing a pure white robe, he hugs you, not seeming to mind the mud. Your heart leaps for joy inside your chest. You wonder, Why did He do this? What will He want of me now? He answers, aloud, "Come, and I will show you."

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