The wind pushes against the house like something desperate to get in. As trees creak under the weight of ice, the power lines droop, sagging in the dark. It’s colder than anything your phone can warn you about.
Inside, the heat pulses once, then again, then stops. The lights flicker. Then everything goes still.
I lived through the Great Plains Ice Storm of 1996 when I was in Kansas City. The power went out and didn’t come back for days. I remember watching the trees bow to the ground under the weight of ice, limbs snapping like rifle fire in the dark. That night, I stood at the window and listened to electric transformers explode across the city, one after another, green flashes lighting up the horizon like a war zone. Then quiet.
It’s not a peaceful kind of quiet. Rather, it’s the kind where you can hear your own breath. Snow hushes everything. It erases sound and distance and the illusion that we are in control.
You check the front window. Light from the streetlamp glows through the flurries in jagged streaks. The wind drives the snow sideways. Drifts now curl higher than the porch rail. The dog won’t go out. My two little yorkies take one step, shiver, and disappear back inside.
The furnace groans once more. Then nothing. You say something out loud. Maybe it’s a prayer or maybe it’s just the sound of fear. The Bible says God once answered a man through a storm.
When the Wind Carries a Voice
“Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind.”
Job had lost nearly everything including his family, his health, and his dignity. His friends tried to explain it and their words came wrapped in suspicion. There had to be a reason, a fault in Job, a hidden cause. Suffering this deep must be deserved.
But Job had done nothing wrong. That was what made it so awful. So Job cried out in protest. He asked for an audience with God. He wanted answers.
God came, but not with a gentle touch or a soothing voice. He came wrapped in thunder and fury. He came in a storm.
The Snow Knows Something You Don’t
“Have you entered the storehouses of the snow?”
God did not explain why Job was suffering. There was no clean explanation, only the voice of God describing a world Job could never control. He spoke of snow and sea, thunder and dawn, constellations wheeling overhead, mountain goats giving birth in secret places, lions crouched in hunger, hawks tracing the thermals.
Each question revealed the gap. The space between what Job understood and what God governs.
Have you commanded the morning? Can you send forth lightning? Do you know the way to where the light dwells? Can you loosen Orion’s belt?
God was not mocking Job. He was reminding him. You are small. I am not. You are confused. I am not. You are hurting. And I still see every sparrow fall.
The words didn’t come as comfort. They came as truth. They steadied a man left standing in the dark with nothing but breath and questions, and gave him something solid enough to kneel on.
Job asked for reasons, but what he received was presence. He saw the One who holds the answer.
What the Storm Couldn’t Touch
Across the country right now, homes are growing cold. Shelters are filling. Hospitals are on backup power. Maybe some families have already lost what they cannot replace.
This is the kind of storm that leaves scars. Some will still be grieving when the snow melts and God does not dismiss that grief. He does not call you weak for weeping.
Even in grief, He speaks. His voice doesn’t come as explanation or easy words. It comes in the storm. In the snow that falls and falls and falls. Each flake a quiet reminder that heaven is still paying attention.
The Storm Is a Teacher
Understanding isn’t required for worship and answers aren’t required for trust. What matters is knowing the One who commands the frost. The weight of the world was never yours to carry, and it still isn’t. But the One who feeds the ravens and sets boundaries for the sea hasn’t stepped off His throne.
Job placed his hand over his mouth. He had spoken what he did not understand. Now he saw.
He saw God, “I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You.”
That is what the storm does. It doesn’t forge bravery. It brings honesty. It stops you. And it makes you see.
When the Heat Returns
Sometime in the night, the furnace kicks back on. The hum spreads through the walls. The vents begin to breathe again.
Something deeper has already settled. Cold doesn’t mean unloved. Snow doesn’t mean forgotten. Unanswered questions don’t mean abandoned. The storm may have stripped comfort away, but it hasn’t moved God an inch from His throne.
Job never learned why his pain came. But he came to peace anyway.
Because the One who knew the answer had spoken.
The snow will stop.
But God stays.
For more devotions click here.
Sign up for my email list here.
For a list of other essential Christian reads click here.
Enjoying this content? If you’d like to support my work and help me create more Bible-centered resources like this devotion, consider buying me a coffee! Your support means the world and helps keep this ministry going.
