A missionary who worked among the Indians on the southwest plains was asked to speak one Sunday afternoon at a little Indian village about fourteen miles away. He rode to the village with some friends in a large wagon pulled by a team of horses. The roads were rough but they reached the little village in time for the afternoon service.
The meeting over, around five o’clock the missionary and his friends started back to their home town where he was to preach the gospel that night. They had not gone far when they observed large black storm clouds coming up from the horizon. Soon they saw the pouring rain coming rapidly tards them.
“We are going to get soaked,” exclaimed the missionary with no little concern.
“I still hope we won’t,” said the driver. “I think we can make it to the big rock before the storm hits us,” and he urged the horses on faster.
They reached the rock at last, and then the missionary saw a large cave in the rock. The driver drove the team, wagon and all, right into the cave. A minute later, the storm broke over the plains in all its fury, but it did not touch the travelers who were safe in the rock.
That rock on the plain was a refuge in a time of storm. The Lord Jesus is a Rock for sinners who have fled to Him for refuge. He is our Refuge in time of storm and trouble.
The tempest’s awful voice was heard.
O Christ, it broke on Thee;
Thy open bosom was my ward;
It bore the storm for me.
Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred;
Now cloudless peace for me.
ML-07/22/1979