The sun fell on the anger of confusion. Night crashed in like the violent waves of a storm on a deserted shore. A silvery slice of the dusky moon hung in the sky, as if held up by the thin webbing of a spider. All was deathly silent. Life was on the verge of collapsing, and this was just the calm before the storm.

She watered the roses with her tears for the last time. The garden of her heart would soon be destroyed by the coming onslaught of terror and loss. Joy was within her grasp; she saw it sparkling across the field, but she turned her back. The chains of grief and pain were more comfortable. They were more trustworthy, unlike the fickle nature of joy.

When the storm came in the night, she was there. She defied the storm. Let it come! There was no point in running from it any longer. She let the torrents ravage the deepest recesses of her soul. She allowed the lightning to strike her hope and whatever peace she had remaining. The rain was permitted to sob through her and around her and deep within her. It was allowed to flood her mind and wash away all traces of blood and stains of envy.

The storm unleashed its power over her. She was drained of all laughter and smiles. This tempest would be the end of her. Nothing would remain. The floods drowned her dreams and swept away all the people that she loved. Thunder shook until there was nothing left to break. An earthquake wrenched her being into a million pieces. The moon slice fell and she was plunged into an unbearable darkness.

She had fallen. She had failed. She would die.

As the storm receded and the remainder of the night's horrors melted away, she found herself lying in the shattered glass of her innermost being. The storm had worked its cruel magic: she was still in one piece but utterly lost and alone. Joy continued to shine across the damaged remains of her garden. It's light mocked her, and she wanted to obliterate all traces of happiness that remained. How could such joyfulness survive when the storm had destroyed everything else?

Bitterly, she tried to pick herself back up, but to no avail. She lay in the dust and let her fear consume her; its flames licked the papery thin defenses of her mind. The battle was lost. The white flag was raised. Closing her eyes, she feebly willed away the oppressive darkness. She longed for a new day, and a new sight. The nighttime blinded her, and she was lost deep within herself.

Then, as stealthily as a thief in the night, dawn crept over her. The ponderous and menacing clouds rolled back to reveal the purity of a crystal clear sky. Diamond stars appeared briefly and then vanished as the morning sun rose from the eastern horizon, spraying sunrise colors throughout the heavens. The air warmed and dried her; this new light was invigorating. Slowly, she opened her eyes and absorbed the new day, as if she was reborn. With the strength returning to her battered bones, she felt the power of the dawn lifting her off the ground.

The surrounding area had been ravaged in wake of the storm. She couldn't help but notice all the wreckage around the garden. All the broken life. Time would be required to heal all the wounds. Her shoulders slumped as the realization of it all left her dejected and nostalgic. A transformation was occurring whether she was ready for it or not.

Morning light radiated around her and the atmosphere vibrated with a new and contagious joy. Love emanated from the renewed Earth. Out of the happiness that shone across her garden came a glimmering figure. In his incandescent hands, he held a single white rose. He knelt before her and began to plant it in the bare soil. As soon as his lovely and glowing hands left the flower, the rose sprung into a full-fledged plant and grew wildly around the garden. There were white roses everywhere: the purest, most delicate and beautiful blossoms.

"Lord," she cried with tears flowing unchecked, "I need you. This is what I want: this life with you. Change me, convert me. Pick up the broken pieces. Fill me. Light up my life, Lord. I need you."

The figure of light, her Savior, smiled at her and took her fragile and pale little hands into his. Together, they walked hand in hand, forever in the light.

The healing after the dark storm comes from His incredible light: His Amazing Grace.