Stillness Doesn't Always show up as we'd expect

​I woke up Thursday morning in southwest Virginia to pouring rain. Weather bulletins were blaring from my phone and on the television in the hotel dining area. For the safety of everyone, I shortened our training and sent everyone home. Little did I know as we drove away just how much worse was yet to come.

Many of you have seen my pictures of my stays in Damascus, Virginia at my friend Stacy's quaint little home there. By Friday night, Damascus was under water. Bridges washed out and homes swept away. Thankfully, my friend Stacy's house was relatively spared and she is safe, but many were not so fortunate.

I have joked for years that southwest Virginia is my home away from home. I have begged everyone down there to adopt me as their own.

Many of them certainly have.

This weekend, though, as the images from that area filled my scrolling, I realized I haven't been joking about that area being my home away from home. Maybe it is more home than home away from home the way my heart has hurt for the people there.

My friend Stacy wrote this about her love affair with Damascus. It speaks to me. She said:

"The history of my love story with Damascus, VA started almost a decade ago when I first arrived there to run a Yeti ultra. There was something about the way the mountains and gently rolling Laurel Creek hugged the town that felt special. Magical even, the town just has an energy that beckons people to stay in its isolated embrace. I immediately knew Damascus was an important part of my life story."

Southwest Virginia, and especially inside the "isolated embraces" of Damascus and Abingdon, has helped heal me when I've needed it most.

I have listened to a song on repeat this weekend, Still Waters by Leanna Crawford. These words, inspired by Psalm 23, have moved me:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He leads me by still waters ‘til my fears are gone
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
O I know You are with me
My father, my friend
Your goodness and mercy will follow me all of my days
I know by Your still waters I’m safe

These words speak of a calm that feels distant in the midst of disaster but is never truly gone. Even in the valley of death’s shadow, even in the floodwaters that cover Damascus.

In moments like these, we are reminded that still waters do not always appear as we expect them to. They are not always the quiet streams or calm rivers we walk beside on sunny days. Sometimes, stillness is found within the heart during the storm.

It is found in each other.

Stacy said about touring the streets of Damascus, "My heart broke house by house, block by block. But people were out in the streets beginning to clean up what could be salvaged which sparks hope and is a testament to the resiliency of our mountain town."

I am reminded that Jesus took a nap as his disciples panicked in the storm. What on earth is up with this guy, they surely wondered.

Jesus knew, that even in the storm, a still and steady father was holding him in his isolated embrace. Oh how I pray my friends who have suffered such great loss will get lost in that embrace.

Oh how I pray that still waters return with unimaginable beauty.

I am reminded that I wrote earlier this week about the lessons found in the opposites. I don't know what lessons will be found in gentle streams turned destructive torrents. I simply know that lessons are there. I know they start and end with knowing,

You are with me
My father, my friend

Love and prayers and all the isolated embraces I can offer to my friends in southwest VA.