Leah Beaty

Still Good Leah Beaty

I wouldn't call this my story. More like hers. My mother's. It's a story of unbridled joy and unmasked peace in the face of one's darkest storm rolling in over the horizon. The kind of storm one can view, wide-open, from their stance in their country backyard. Nothing to hinder the scene, but the rolling hills in the distance. Where fields bleed into sky. Into darker and darker sky.
Deep black clouds loom large and oppressive on the horizon, sweeping closer and closer. The winds pick up, sending a rush down your spine, lifting your arm hairs with goosebumps with its chill and frightening thrill. But, here is where the story of storm turns. For she, my mother, doesn't run for cover, slamming the door to the wind raging and the clouds about to burst open with a thunderous splat.
No. She stands smiling and full of calm instead.
She is poised and peaceful. Aware of her Maker, the Maker too of these mighty skies.
The One bending near her, stilling her beating heart all steadied again, and filling her with an inexplicable peace that can only be described by the one being filled with it.
Or by that person's daughter...
I want to tell her story. A story that, as her daughter, ultimately gets woven into mine. A story that testifies to God's goodness, even in the storms.