I am not afraid of storms,
Louisa May Alcott
for I am learning how to sail my ship.
Nine years ago, just weeks before we heard, “Cody has epilepsy,” I started writing. I didn’t actually know WHY I was writing, wasn’t sure if it was a book or maybe just a new way of journaling, and didn’t intentionally sit down to write.
The words just came out of nowhere and I had to write or type them as quickly as I could.
Months turned into years…of seizures…and of writing.
At one point, I added a title page to the Word document that had grown quite large: “Beauty in the Storm.”
But it took many years to be able to see any beauty. Or rather, to be able to see the beauty that had existed throughout but was easily overshadowed by the storm.
Two months ago, we hosted a concert to mark the 10th anniversary of Cody’s first seizure. As I introduced the singer, I was brought to tears while sharing the beauty God has added to our journey. I listed several things with no difficulty but barely managed to speak when it came to sharing about the people we have met – people we have met only because we’re all in the epilepsy storm together.
“Amazing people who, if I had never met them, I think I would have felt an ache from their absence but never known why,” I struggled to say as the truth of that sentence overwhelmed me.
A storm so intense I wasn’t sure I would survive it overcome by beauty so unexpected I could never have envisioned it. I would never have chosen epilepsy but given the chance now, I don’t think I would wipe it from our lives. The beauty in the storm is too precious.
Last week, we spent 5 days in Tennessee for a family wedding and some sightseeing. We stayed in a cabin in the Great Smoky Mountains for one night…and were awoken by the fiercest downpour I’ve ever heard.
Not to be outdone by mere rain, a flash of light lit the bedroom and I thought, “Uh oh,” a second before a thunder crack seemed to BOOM from the backyard and reverberated back and forth against the mountains. It was just a little unnerving but I also almost laughed, it was so shocking…so unexpected. So beautiful.
The one day we planned to spend exploring the mountains began with a thunderstorm which turned into mist, gorgeous mist blowing and billowing and literally crawling up the sides of the mountains.
Later, our drive up to the tallest peak included rain, thunder, mist, and sleet. Our hike to the very top pelted us with hail in the 40-degree air and buffeted us with wind gusts so strong Cody had to grab a railing on the final ascent.
And we laughed. Cody walked in puddles and posed with virtually every tree we passed.
We asked, “How much farther?” of people walking down as we struggled to walk up the path to the 6643-foot peak – and then cheered on others as we hiked down: “You’re almost there. Keep going!”
I shared knowing smiles with several other equally exhilarated hikers. “Bring it on, storm! I can beat this.”
The storm obscured the view from the mountaintop but what we experienced within it was so unique. So unexpected. So beautiful.
Would the view have been stunning in sun and blue skies? Of course. But if that day had been clear, I think I may have felt an ache from the storm’s absence but never known why.
Note to self: you don’t need to be afraid of storms.
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