Storm Debris

Where I live, we recently received an incredible thunderstorm. It rained all day—not a passing shower, but a steady, soaking rain that seemed to wash over everything. I can't remember the last time we had a storm like that.

The next morning, there was proof of just how much rain had fallen. The news reported it was the second wettest day in our area's history.

As I walked early that morning, I noticed what the storm had left behind.

Leaves and twigs circled the storm drains. Branches lay scattered beneath the trees. Mudslides, some small and some surprisingly large, covered sections of the sidewalk.

As I walked, my mind wandered.

After the storms in our lives, there is always debris.

Google defines debris as "the scattered remains, fragments, or wreckage of something that has been destroyed, broken, or discarded."

That feels true emotionally, too.

After life's storms, there can be debris everywhere. There may be the physical reminders after a divorce or a move. Medical bills that continue arriving long after the diagnosis. Relationships that never quite recover. Heartache that aches quietly day after day.

The storm may have passed, but the evidence remains.

And cleaning up that debris takes time.

Sometimes the wind comes along and carries pieces of it away. Sometimes another season changes the landscape. Other times, we have to pick up the broom ourselves and slowly sweep away what no longer belongs.

Not all storms leave the same amount of damage.

Some are over quickly, leaving only a few scattered leaves.

Others uproot entire trees and change the landscape forever.

Those storms require more rebuilding, more healing, and more patience.

But no matter how devastating the storm, the debris doesn't last forever.

Beauty returns.

Grass grows again. Trees put out new leaves. Sidewalks are cleared. Roads reopen.

The same is true of us.

People often say that time heals all wounds.

I'm not convinced that's true.

Time, by itself, doesn't heal.

Time simply gives us the opportunity to do the work.

Healing takes intention. It takes honesty. It takes allowing yourself to grieve what was lost instead of pretending it never mattered. It takes forgiveness—of others and sometimes of yourself. It takes recognizing how you've grown because of what you've survived.

The storm becomes part of your story.

The debris doesn't define you.

What defines you is your willingness to clear a path forward.

And one day, almost without realizing it, you'll look around and notice that the landscape is beautiful again.