Wounded not broken?

My friend, may I ask you a question? When life’s storms hit and our spirit is wounded, hurting and looking for relief why is it that some among us are merely wounded but still standing and others are broken, even destroyed?

My friend, life’s a story, welcome to This Passing Day. I’m Mark Brunner.

Several years ago, one of the most severe storms in many years pounded our four little acres. It came out of the northwest embedded in dark, angry clouds. We saw it approaching in the twilight and could hear its snarl off in the distance as it rolled over farm and forest with a vengeance. The thunder was continuous, not intermittent. It sounded like a slow rumbling freight along some lonesome rail line in the distance. The clouds before the storm were swirling masses of white popping up here and there and then disappearing almost like forewarning smoke signals telegraphing some distant and brooding attack. It began to rain, hail, and I was forced into a watch behind closed windows. Soon the wind picked up dramatically and the rain moved horizontally pressing against the house. Soon the sirens began to whine and we knew it was time to take pets and people to the basement and wait out the storm.