God is our refuge. Our fortress. We trust in him to deliver us from the raging storms of life—whenever and however they come. Out in the world, the tempest surges with the dangers of the fowler’s snare—seeking to trap us into sin, despair, depression, and defeat.

Sometimes I don’t get it. I just don’t.

It reminds me of what Winston Churchill said of Russia: “A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”

My definitions don’t fit. My reasoning is defied; my hopes and expectations unrealized, and my assumptions overturned.

It makes no sense.

How odd of God.