Somehow amid each tempest,
Whirlwinds running wild,
His still small voice
It guides me,
Escorts me as His child.
Each twister clouds my vision;
On Him I imperatively depend.
He sees for me and maneuvers me,
Reassuring He sees the end.
So many scriptures resound within me,
Too many for coincidence;
I'm instructed and delivered,
With each prophetic glimpse.
Thirty-six and thirty-seven
I repeatedly read from the Book of Psalms;
Germinating the assurance
That Mother Nature would indeed be calmed.
Many times I've seen the "native tree"
"Spreading like a weed;"
I've watched the plotting, heard the threats,
Devoted to trust in Him,
When the elements seemed to prevail;
Nourished by His faithfulness,
And that He audits the smallest details.
He's full of mercy, full of love,
Quick to forgive the repentant heart;
Yet, aggressively enforcing justice,
Keeping TRUTH as my navigational chart.
He can't be tricked, can't be bribed;
Nothing's hidden from His eyes.
Ever-ready to extend compassion;
Yet, unsusceptible to believing lies.
So, she watches P's and Q's,
Ducks all in a row,
The calm before the storm,
A peacock-strutting show.
You're "mightier than many waters!"
YOU rule "the raging of the sea!"
When Mother Nature sends another storm,
Again, You'll be sheltering me!