The rage batters against the door to be let in,
It's slave wind whips and stings at the doormat, trying to make believe the doormat does not exist, or that it is abused; slave wind slices at the mat with it's wicked fingernails, trying to tear it to shreds as it attempt to claw it's way in.
The raging storm questions at the windows with rattles of doubt and taunting threats of entry and of stealing away of the peace it believes is fake.
But inside the weary family is warmed, cuddling close together.
Their foundation is strong and secure,
Nothing can take them away from God's love.
And after the storm there is a still deeper tranquility.
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