The Storms

Once upon a time in the village of Whole one week was different than the rest.

The town crier was a simple boy who loved his role in the land. The people of the village wanted him to live close enough to the King’s house that if the King had a message or note for the people the crier could receive the message from the King and proclaim it to the village. That was his role in Whole… and a good role it was.

One week a storm came and knocked a big tree down in front of the door the crier’s house. He had a message from the King for the people, but he could not give it because he was stranded in his home. As the storm passed the crier noticed that the King had protected his home during the winds and that the King, himself, had even been protecting the crier.

“Why did you let a storm come to our village and my home?” the crier asked the King as they reflected over the week long storm.

The King gave no answer.

“It is your land and your village, why don’t you keep it from peril and danger?” the crier waited for a response, but received none.

He asked one more question of the King, “Will there be more storms?”

At that question the King smiled softly and nodded, “Yes, my friend, there will be more storms for both you and the village. This land will always have storms that will come through.”

“But why?” the crier was trying to make sense of storms that don’t make sense.

“Don’t you see it?” the King asked with passion in his heart.

“See what?” was the empty reply.

“The change.” The King stood and motioned for the crier to follow him to the threshold of the door of his house. The King pointed to the step just 20 feet outside of the door and said, “Look.”

The crier looked at the threshold and then to the step searching for something that appeared different. “Other than the mess of twigs, leaves, and puddles left by the storm, I see nothing different.” Frustration mixed in the tone of the crier’s voice.

The King smiled and pushed aside the debris from last week’s storm with his foot. “Look!” he said pointing to the ground.

“I can’t believe it! The storm has damaged the foundation of the house! The whole house has shifted! Not only must I endure the storm, I must be witness to its power to bring disaster to my home. You give the storms too much freedom to bring damage.” The crier accused the King and reminded him that it was his role to protect the villagers.

The King pulled the crier off the step and showed him the ground again. There, eight inches away was a line from where the house sat before the last storm. And beyond that was another, and another, and another. Each storm had moved the crier’s home from its foundation. Each storm had pushed the house from its resting place and relocated it slightly.

“I don’t understand why this is good news!” the crier yelled hoping the King would explain. “Everything is ruined!”

The King pointed over the roof of the debris covered house to His castle that rested in the distance. “That’s where I live. Each storm pushes your house closer to mine. The wind is not destroying your home, it is delivering it!” The King smiled.

The crier slowly did too. The thought of living with the King was one of his favorite thoughts to think. Being delivered was better to dwell on than being destroyed.

“The storms still frighten me sometimes,” he confessed.

“I know,” t he King responded. “That’s why I am here.” The King started to pick up the branches and garbage that had littered the lawn. The village crier joined him and both of them tidied up the post-storm yard without saying a word.

As they picked up the last of the storm remnants the King asked the crier, “Will you remind the people of the village that they are closer than they were? Will you announce to them that I know about the storms and I will not let the wind be wasted? Will you stand in the square of the village and proclaim how passionate my love for them is?”

The crier looked forward to going back to the village again... he had a message to deliver from the King.


Pastor Dave