by
Crystal J. Ortmann
Over 1000 feet of mountain exploded in just a few moments. A mere geological finger snap and a large part of a majestic snowcapped peak was reduced to rubble and fine ash. Mount St. Helens had erupted.
After 20+years the devastation still amazes me and the eerie stillness makes me want to whisper.
A proud forest now fills a greater portion of what was once a blue mountain lake. The dead trees are clustered together at one end like so many corpses.
Other skeletal remains of trees stand starkly--gray upon gray from the all-pervading dust. I want to weep.
As if sensing my mood, clouds start spilling over the mountain’s lip and
the wound in its side. The wind blows harder and spits stinging raindrops. It’s August and yet, in the mountains, it still feels like winter, so I hurry back to the protection of the truck.
It’s only an afternoon ride, but I feel I’ve been to the other side of the moon.
The creature comforts of warmth and shelter take on new value. I revel in them as I ride the s-curves back to a more hospitable world.
During the descent, I observe lush ferns and green shrubs with heightened
appreciation and awareness. The scent of fir trees soothes me. It’s raining heavily, yet with softer drops. They gently course down the wind-shield, washing away the grime that once was a mountain.
I am thankful for the way He brings new life and hope out of calamity and destruction.
Psalm 46:1-3 (NASB) “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.”
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