Walking along the waterfront, I saw a spot of color squeezed in betweeen some fallen logs. Tiny purple irises were blooming in the sandy soil far from any house or landscaped yard. I can only imagine that the bulbs were washed down river after last year's hurricane. Landing in a soft spot, the bulbs planted themselves and bloomed this spring.
I am transplanted by the storms and floods of my own life. Washed downstream, I swirl and swim in the frothing water. I spit and splutter, looking for a dry place to step out of the flood and find my footing. But every single time, without fail, my Lord sets me down in a safe soil, protected by fallen logs that wall me away from the turmoil without. God is my soft, sandy soil. I take root and bloom, hopefully attracting others to the beauty of my Lord.
God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the Holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her; she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.
Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.
Psalm 46: 1-5, 10
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