A Refuge From the Storm Doesn't Mean the Storm Stops

I think we read Isaiah 25:4 to frightened children as if it says the storm will stop, and I think it does them a small harm. The verse never says that. This week's Come, Follow Me reading in Isaiah builds a lesson around it, and the lesson is a good one if you read the whole verse.

For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall. (Isaiah 25:4)

What does "a refuge from the storm" actually say?

Read the last clause again, because it's the one that gets skipped. The refuge is there "when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall." The storm is happening. The wall is being hit.

And the verb is "hast been." Isaiah is looking back at what the Lord already was to people in trouble, which is a different thing from a forecast. The promise that looks forward comes a few verses later. Verse 8 says the Lord God "will wipe away tears from off all faces" and verse 9 starts with "in that day." A refuge now and a larger repair later, and the chapter doesn't pretend the first one is the second.

That matters more at an eight-year-old's bedside than in a lesson manual. If I tell Lily the verse means God keeps storms away, then the next storm that comes anyway is evidence against it. She's smart. She'll draw that line herself, quietly, and I won't hear about it.

The night the thunder came

Saturday around ten the first real thunder we'd had in weeks went off over the house, and Lily was at the top of the stairs before the second one finished. She didn't come into our room. She stood in the doorway holding the stuffed horse she says she's too old for and told us she wasn't scared, she only wanted to know how far away it was.

So we counted. David got the flash-to-thunder trick from his own father and he showed her how to count the seconds out loud, and on the next one she got to four and decided four was far. It was about a mile, which is not nothing, but I wasn't going to argue. Biscuit had come out from under Ben's crib and was leaning on her shins. Ben slept through all of it, which he does with everything, including me.

She spent an hour on the floor on David's side while nobody read anything.

Sunday morning I read her the verse standing at the sink, shoes half on, the kitchen still smelling of the eggs I'd burned a little because I was doing it one-handed. She asked what the wall was. I said I thought it was whatever stands between you and the weather. She said, "So the wall gets the storm instead of us." Close, I told her, but the verse says the Lord is the refuge, and the refuge is where you stand while the wall takes it. She thought that over and said the thunder was still loud even inside, though.

It was, and I let that stand because I had nothing better.

Why I don't tell a scared child she doesn't need to be

The tempting thing at ten at night is whatever makes the fear stop. "It's just noise." "Heavenly Father is watching over us, so there's nothing to worry about." The second one sounds faithful, and I've said it. It tells her the fear was a mistake, and now she has the fear and the embarrassment of having it.

The verse is addressed to "the needy in his distress." A girl at the top of the stairs with a stuffed horse fits that description, and it would be an odd gospel that asked her to stop being that before she could use it.

The lesson also points to Mark 4 and its "Peace, Be Still" video. The disciples wake Jesus with "Master, carest thou not that we perish?" and he stills the wind. Then he asks, "Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?" People quote that second question at their kids more than I think is kind. I read it as a question about where the disciples took their fear, since they took it to him, and I'd be slow to hear it as a charge that they shouldn't have had any. The ship was full, according to verse 37. And yes, he did still the wind that night. I'm not going to tell you that never happens. It just isn't what Isaiah 25:4 is promising.

What I'd say to a child who is afraid

Say back what she said in her own words and don't fix it. Give her a question she can answer, like how far away is it, because a scared eight-year-old wants a job. Then in daylight, when nothing is hitting anything, read her the verse and ask what she thinks a refuge is.

I try not to hurry in and take the hard part off her. I wrote about this when Lily was sure she couldn't say her two lines in the Primary program, in Lily Has Two Lines and Says She Can't. What she needed there was a few run-throughs and me staying out of the way, and I notice the same pull with thunder. It's much easier to talk a child out of a feeling than to stand next to her while she has it.

Frequently Asked Questions

How do I explain "refuge from the storm" to an eight-year-old?

Ask her what she thinks it is before you say anything. Mine said "wall" inside a minute, and it was better than any definition I'd have come up with.

What if my child asks why God doesn't stop the storm?

You can tell her you don't know all of it. I'd add what the verse does say, that the Lord is a refuge while the blast is hitting the wall, and then come back to the question later instead of leaving it there. I wrote about why in I Don't Know Is a Fine Answer for About a Week. Lily didn't entirely like my answer, and she's welcome to bring it up again.

Is it okay for a baptized child to still be afraid?

Lily was baptized June 27 and she was on the stairs in September, so I'd say yes. I've never read her baptism as a promise that the feelings stop.

Should I wait for a storm to read this with my kids?

I wouldn't try to arrange one. An ordinary afternoon works, and a child who has already pictured the wall may find it on the night the thunder comes.

with love, Melissa