We talk often about the calm before the storm. We talk about waiting for the other shoe to drop. We talk about a sense of impending doom.
But sometimes there is just calm before day.
Tuesday morning I looked at this small lake in Northern Indiana. The only ripples were caused by me walking out onto the dock. I had thought about taking a walk, but my walk took the path that ended here rather than the one that would have talked me further.
On this walk I had to stop. There was no place to go. I had to reflect, just as the water reflected the trees.
Okay, to be accurate, I stopped and was able to reflect, just as the water couldn’t reflect the trees unless it stopped, unless it was still.
As a result of the stillness, I was calm and, perhaps, avoided the storm. I was calm and was able to think and discuss and pray and contribute and understand.
Maybe, rather than calm being the front end of catastrophe, it lets us face it with our feet more firmly underneath us.
Maybe.
I’ll have to reflect a bit more.
