Walking Through the Storms

Walking Through the Storms

This morning I woke to wind and rain. The kind of weather that makes it easy to stay inside, to tell yourself, “Not today.” The chill in the air, the wet streets, and the gusts of wind all whispered the same thing: skip your walk.

But as I stood there, I remembered a story my good friend once told me. This friend is more than just someone I know—he’s a brother to me. He’s walked with me through good times and bad, spoken encouragement into my life when I needed it most, and reminded me that storms are not meant to break us but to shape us.

That day, he told me the story of the cows and the bison.

When cows see a storm approaching, they instinctively run away from it. They run hard, trying to escape, but the storm always catches them. And because they’ve been running, they’re exhausted when it overtakes them. The storm then lingers with them longer because they are too tired to keep moving.

But the bison? The bison do the opposite. When they see a storm on the horizon, they run toward it. Straight into it. By running into the storm, they actually move through it faster. They endure the storm, yes, but it doesn’t last nearly as long because they choose to face it head-on.

That story has stayed with me. And this morning, as I looked out at the rain, I thought of the bison. I could have chosen to stay home, but instead, I laced up my shoes and walked out the door.

Because life is full of storms—some small, like a windy morning walk, and others much greater. Storms of loss, storms of responsibility, storms of doubt, storms of loneliness. As men, as husbands, as fathers, we carry heavy responsibilities: to provide, to protect, to lead, to support. Sometimes those responsibilities feel like a storm in themselves.

And yet, we’re not called to run away from them. We’re called to face them.

This morning as I walked, I thought not just of my own challenges but of my friend’s. He has endured storms in his family, storms in his work, storms in his heart. And still, he stands. He continues to press forward, like the bison, into the winds of adversity. His example reminded me that I’m not alone in mine.

Loneliness is real. It creeps in when we withdraw, when we stop sharing our stories, when we convince ourselves that no one would understand. But connection is powerful. Sharing our burdens lightens the load, and walking together through storms makes the rain feel a little less cold and the wind a little less sharp.

I am grateful for my friend, who not only shares his storms with me but allows me to share mine with him. Together we sharpen one another, encourage one another, and remind each other to keep moving forward.

And here’s the truth: the storms of life will come whether we like it or not. We can’t choose whether or not the rain falls, but we can choose how we meet it. We can run away like the cows, exhausting ourselves only to be overtaken anyway. Or we can be like the bison—chin lifted, legs steady, running toward the storm with courage, knowing that on the other side is clear sky and fresh air.

Perseverance produces patience. Patience produces character. And character produces hope. That’s what storms are really about—not just surviving, but becoming.

So today, I walk in gratitude. The rain may still fall, and the wind may still blow, but I choose to keep moving. Not away from the storm, but through it. Because storms don’t get the final word—hope does.