The Porch Light

Lately, I’ve been learning to sit beneath the storm clouds a little longer than I’d like, and trust that God still controls the storm.

This month finds me walking through one of those storms. My Trigeminal Neuralgia has flared, and it feels like lightning piercing my face—sharp, sudden, and uninvited. Pain has a way of stopping us mid-stride, and narrowing life down to the next breath.

But even here, I’m finding that pain—though unwanted—can become sacred ground when we invite God into it.

What feels like a breaking may actually be His shaping. Here’s how I’m learning to trust Him in the storm…

The other night, I sat on my porch long after the sun slipped behind the trees. The world was still, wrapped in that heavy October hush that comes just before the chill settles in. My teacup had gone cold beside me, but I didn’t care. Pain has a way of freezing time — stopping everything around it until all that’s left is the ache and the next breath.

It’s strange how pain can make the hours stretch thin — changing the whole shape of a day. There are moments when it feels like I’ve fallen out of step with the world.

The porch light flickered on and as I sat there in that quiet, I felt God’s nearness. Not the kind that takes the pain away, but the kind that reminds you that even in the storm, His light still shines.

I’ve been asking God to take away the pain, but that night I asked for His peace instead. The sun set, the stars came out, and for the first time in days, the night didn’t feel heavy. It felt peaceful.

Because sometimes, the miracle isn’t that God takes the pain away — it’s that He holds us together in the middle of it.