“‘… Have you seen the treasury of hail, which I have reserved for the time of trouble …?’” Job 38:22–23.
A faithful friend of our family sits patiently above our fireplace mantel, its golden pendulum swaying back and forth, unabated for the past decade. Like a tireless old man, its delicate heartbeat is barely audible, except at midnight, when there is a silence in the air. Our favorite memories hover near it. Pictures, paw prints, and mementos of pleasant times long past.
One summer afternoon, without warning and as if on cue, its pendulum came to a standstill just days before the storm.
Through the eastern window, we saw it coming as we huddled within the confines of our home. The rolling cloud was green and angry, with flashes of light emanating from its heart. Then, like sudden vengeance, the gale struck. Its wrath blew through our community, toppling trees and littering the earth with large hailstones and all manner of debris. As we tried to calm our pets, we heard and felt a loud thud and the house shook in defiance. This jolt directed us to another window, only to behold a fallen tree strewn in our backyard—a defeated titan whose broken mass now laid prone amongst the blowing debris.
After almost eleven years in Illinois, I’ve yet to grow accustomed to those maelstroms. When our skies resonate with the sounds of war, it triggers an innate apprehensiveness within me. My concerns are not so much for myself, but for those I love.
“We are under His roof,” I whisper to steady my nerves as similar sounds seems to grip the nations of this world. Around our globe there are growing protests in the streets, pains, epidemics, violence, conflicts, and strife. All of it seems to me the results of turning from our Savior and choosing our own selfish paths. Over the span of just a few years, there has been a definitive change to the rhythm of the world. The pendulum has slowed.
“Therefore, whatever you want men to do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.” Matthew 7:12.
Now the storm has passed, but there is a greater storm brewing. I can see the need to take shelter under His roof, yet again. “There is no time to lose,” I murmur as I put down the newspaper and turn to the clock above our stone mantelpiece. As my work begins, with tools in hand, I consider that each tooth on every gear within its heart serves a vital purpose. Damage even one and its timing is ruined forever.
“‘If you love Me, keep My commandments.’” John 14:15.
Next to our small grandfather clock is a book called Maranatha. The words within are my daily personal counsel. “I thought of the day when the judgment of God would be poured out upon the world, when blackness and horrible darkness would clothe the heavens as sackcloth of hair. … Terrible are the judgements of God revealed.”[1]
Like God’s warning to a world rapidly drifting from His grace, we will be shaken. But we have an excellent insurance policy and a solid foundation in which to stand upon, so I need not worry. And with this insurance policy comes a great hope that a thousand years from now, as our world blossoms with new life, rivers and fruit sprouting from every unfallen tree, we will look back on those distant memories and mementos in time. Then, with jubilation, we will realize the price for our insurance was well worth the cost.
With a final adjustment or two and a steady hand, I’ve returned our wooden clock to its rightful place above our mantel with its heartbeat fully restored.
Lights out for the night, and one last look back with satisfaction at the completed work, confident that as I retire for the evening and close the bedroom door, our wooden friend with a golden heart will tick faithfully into the night. And by an even greater faith, we will sleep, restful in the hope that one day, all will awaken in glory on the other side of time.
“Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea.” Revelation 21:1.
[1] Ellen G. White, Maranatha, 284.
