The Staircase, Part 2

A little over a week ago, I drove with my parents down Cherokee Valley Road.  It was my first time back in the area since coming home from California, and though I'd heard about the devastating tornadoes, nothing could really prepare me for what I saw.  People have described it as looking like a war zone.  I've never experienced a war zone, but that was still the thought that went through my mind first.  It's like the terror of that night, of all those who lost their homes and even their lives, in just a few minutes--could be felt as we drove by.  It weighed heavy, very heavy, on my heart.

One house that really caught my attention was on a little hill above the road.  All that was left was the staircase, standing alone in the middle of where the house had once been.  A few days later, I passed by again, and noticed that they had already put in the studs for the outer walls of the house.  They were rebuilding around that same staircase.

I've thought of that image quite a bit over the last week.  It made me think of the times in my life when God allows storms to strip everything from me but my core:  the true desires of my heart; the secret dreams and ideas growing quietly, just waiting for the right time; and mostly, my faith that God is true and loves me through it all.  When all else is blown away, I see it again--that core of who I am.  That staircase in my heart is what gives me the hope I need to rebuild.  And by God's grace, that last remaining piece of "rubble" becomes the symbol of His faithfulness through my storm and His purpose for a new beginning.