“It’s okay,” I told them in what I hoped was a confident voice. “We’re safe.” And I knew we were, but as the rain fell in sheets, my anxiety for my husband grew. He had driven into the city to make a hospital visit. What if he had an accident in this storm? What would the children and I do if he were killed?
Later, when my husband finally arrived safe and well, I sagged into his arms. After he told of the many wrecks he’d barely missed in the flooded streets, our five-year-old looked up from his toys and said, “But Daddy, I thought God promised not to send floods anymore.”
My husband explained God promised never to flood the whole earth again, and that our city was only having flash flooding.
“That’s okay then,” our son said, turning back to his toys, “because God always keeps His promises.”
My little boy’s faith shamed me. Why was I so quick to fret when I knew, even if my husband died, God promised He’d never forsake me or my children?
And God always keeps His promises.