This past week I took a trip to Austin, TX.  It has been a minute since I was on a plane. About 10 years worth of minutes.  I’m always amazed that a metal tube can get off the ground and fly above the clouds. My 9 year old asked me to take pictures of EVERYTHING, since she wasn’t getting to come with me (she was not happy about it either).  On the way there I took a picture of the clouds below us so she could see how cool it was to actually fly above clouds.  She had, after all, only seen the underside of clouds and never the topside.  They where white and fluffy and looked like patches of cotton throughout the sky. Gorgeous.

On the way home, however, I looked out my window and saw a big patch of gray clouds in a circle.  They were thick and angry looking.  A storm was brewing for sure.  The people on the underside of those clouds were, no doubt, experiencing some rough weather.  But there we were, flying high above the storm, and could actually see the sun rising across the horizon on that early morning.

I wonder if those folks below had endured a storm all during the night?  The morning must have seemed really far away from them with the sunlight blocked by those dark, angry clouds.  Life is so often like that, isn’t it?  Storms of trial sometimes come our way. We look up and all we see is the storm.  No sunlight.  No morning.  Just the long, hard night.

I just want to take a moment and remind you that even if you are looking at the underside of the clouds right now, there is a topside.  And the topside tells the truth.  The sun is out.  The morning is coming.  The storm will end.  A new day is on the horizon.

Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. – Psalm 30:5 (NLT)