Beyond the Storm

This is the piece that I almost burned. Well, the after version anyway. When I began purging my writing stash, the HS spoke to me about this particular one and showed me how to transform it into something about hope coming out of despair. I hope I conveyed it well. The before version is going in the fireplace

Beyond the Storm

Gazing out at the ominous horizon from this third-story window, my back pressed against the unyielding wood, stiff and marred with graffiti and life’s use. Sitting, mesmerized by the clouds looming on the horizon- screaming out to my vulnerable heart- warning of the impending storm.

“Tread with caution,” it whispers to my soul. “Be careful, dear one. Step lightly.”

Strikes of lightning whip across the shrouded gray expanse before me. The giant towers, rising above the earth, tremble. Inside this brick fortress I feel safe, knowing it can withstand the coming storm.

“Can I?” My heart wonders. “Just how capable am I to forge through murky waters and desolate lands?”

Pelted by nature’s tears, they feel warm against my face. The downpour begins. The earth, washed clean, renewed and bathed in cleansing drops of rain. Faster the tears fall from the steely sky, harder they crash upon pavement and greenery in front of me. I am drenched and cold inside. The rain’s warmth may soothe my skin, but it does nothing for my soul. Hope still eludes me.


I watch as cars pass nearby. Puddles of murky water splash out of potholes and replenish within moments of the cars passing. Doorsteps overwhelmed with torrential rains, give pass and water rushes inside dwelling places, between cracks in their tough exteriors.


My heart begins to warm. The rain has penetrated, like a cup of tea warding off winter’s biting chill. I feel, for a moment. Another wave of warmth crashes upon me. The rain falls freely now but the ominous skies recede. A few rays of light break through the cool barrier and dances happily on the sidewalk in front of me. The beginning of hope is birthed in my soul, a tiny green shoot dances in the breeze and basks in the fresh sunlight. I smile and take a cleansing breath as summer’s light pervades me, transformed by the warmth of the sun, speaks words of comfort.

“You survived the storm,” I hear my heart speak.

In that moment, I am reminded of God’s promise: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”

As I look up into the grey-blue sky, almost erased of all traces of the storm, something in my soul soars free. A burden evaporates into the fresh air before me. And I smile and lift my hands to the heavens in thanks. Hope has found me.