How Glorifying the Storm Undermines God's Goodness

You've probably heard the story about the lone oak tree standing on a windy cliff. When a weaker tree remarked that one day, when it became strong, it too would stand in the wind, the oak replied:

"I didn't wait to become strong before standing in the wind. I stood in the wind and learned to be strong."

We humans do something similar. We try to make peace with the storm by giving it credit. We romanticize it, marvel at it, and thank it for shaping us into who we are today.

I see it differently.

Storms don't create strength. They reveal it.

You may be a beautiful, flowering tree above the surface, but if your roots are shallow, the first strong wind will expose what was always there.

Living in California's Central Valley for most of my adult life, I saw this often. Even relatively mild storms would leave trees uprooted all over the city. Young saplings and mature trees alike would be toppled.

One day, a gardener explained why.

"Our hardpan is close to the surface," he said. "So we put boulders around the base of our trees. We drill through the hardpan and install a pipe deep into the soil so the water reaches farther down. The roots follow the water."

I was fascinated as the spiritual parallels started piling up in my mind.

Strong trees come from deep roots.

Deep roots come from accessing deep water.

The same roots that help you stand in the storm will sustain you through the drought.

Only roots willing to push beyond the shallow places find what keeps them secure.

Storms don't create what's inside us. They reveal it.

I've watched hard seasons bring families closer together. I've also seen the same circumstances tear families apart. I've watched some people emerge from devastating storms stronger and more compassionate, while others spend the rest of their lives terrified of the wind.

The storm didn't determine the outcome. The roots did.

You are strong because God made you strong—not because hard things happened to you.

Strength exists within you because the Strong One wove it into your being from the beginning. You bear His image, and His image is unshakable and eternal.

He deserves the credit for who you are becoming—not the storm.

Some break.

Some bend.

Some stand.

I am determined to become so deeply rooted in God that I recognize the storm long before it arrives and trust that even the drought cannot steal what He has planted in me.

Because if I give the storm credit for making me strong, I am giving glory to the plans of the destroyer. The enemy's intention has always been to steal, kill, and destroy—to keep us from becoming everything we were created to be.

But God intends abundance.

He intends flourishing.

He intends for us to know the Weather Maker so intimately that we no longer live at the mercy of the weather.