Westhill Church - Auburn & Federal Way, WA

The WEekly Word

A Blog of Encouragement from our Pastors

weekly word – 12/04/2025

The Storm in Grassy Creek

The storm came in without mercy.

For days the people of Grassy Creek had heard the warnings: cold front, high winds, possible road closures—but no one expected the blizzard to swallow the town the way it did. Snow fell in sheets, blowing sideways, piling against homes, porches, and windows until the whole world seemed painted in white. Trees bowed under the weight. Power lines snapped. And one by one, the lights in Grassy Creek blinked out.

Inside a small blue house at the end of Willow Lane, fifteen-year-old Daniel Carter stood by the window, watching snow whip across the yard like ghostly waves. The house was dim now, heated only by the flickering fireplace his dad had started before leaving to check the generator at the church. Daniel’s breath rose in faint clouds each time he spoke.

“I can’t believe the power’s still out,” he said, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

His mother gave a weary smile as she stirred a pot of soup warming over the fire. “It’s only been a few hours. Let’s pray it comes back on soon.”

But Daniel wasn’t thinking about the power. He was thinking about the old cabin across the street, the one belonging to Miss Eleanor Greene. He had seen her last week at the grocery store leaning heavily on her cane, bundled in a coat too thin for November. She lived alone. No family close by. No car. And now, no heat.

He chewed his lips. “Mom… do you think Miss Eleanor’s okay?”

His mother paused long enough for him to notice her concern. “I hope so. She doesn’t drive and she probably won’t risk going outside in a storm like this either.”

Daniel nodded slowly. “Maybe I should check on her.”

He expected his mother to tell him no—that it was too dangerous, it’s too cold, and too dark. But instead, she set down her spoon and looked directly at him.

“Daniel,” she asked softly, “if Jesus were standing here, looking at that same house… what do you think He would do?”

The question hung in the dim room like a lamp, bright against the dark.

Daniel swallowed. He knew the answer immediately. Jesus would go. Jesus always moved toward hurting people, not away from them. “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve” (Mark 10:45). He healed the sick, fed the hungry, touched the outcast, and lifted the forgotten. Even when He was tired and pressed, when crowds demanded more of Him than seemed humanly possible—Jesus served.

Daniel inhaled slowly and stood straighter. “I think He would check on her.”

His mom nodded. “Then go. But bundle up well and don’t stay long. Come back if you need help.”

Daniel pulled on two coats, his thickest gloves, a wool hat, and his dad’s heavy boots. The wind shoved against him the moment he stepped outside, snow biting his cheeks and freezing his eyelashes. But he pushed forward, boots crunching through drifts as high as his knees, until he reached Miss Eleanor’s porch. The windows were dark. No glow of candles. No sound inside.

He knocked hard.

“Miss Eleanor? It’s Daniel Carter. Are you alright?”

Silence.

He knocked again, louder. “Miss Eleanor?”

At last, a faint voice answered, thin as tissue paper. “Daniel… dear… I’m here.”

He opened the door to find her sitting in a rocking chair, wrapped in a quilt, pale and shivering. A single lantern flickered beside her.

“Oh man,” Daniel whispered. “Miss Eleanor, you’re freezing!”

“I didn’t want to trouble anyone,” she said weakly. “The storm came so fast… I couldn’t get more firewood.”

There was barely a handful of logs left inside. And the temperature was dropping.

Daniel thought again of his mother’s words. What would Jesus do?

Jesus wouldn’t leave her. Jesus wouldn’t say, “I’ll pray for you,” and walk away empty-handed. “Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth” (1 John 3:18). Jesus would step into the need.

“I’m going to help,” Daniel said firmly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He raced home, snow stinging his face. His mother looked up at him in alarm when he burst inside.

“How is she?”

“She’s really cold. She doesn’t have firewood, and she’s alone.”

His mother didn’t hesitate. “Then we won’t let her stay alone. Gather the blankets. I’ll make food. And I’ll call some neighbors who might help.”

Within minutes, Daniel was back outside carrying two thick blankets, a thermos of soup, and a backpack filled with candles, matches, and the emergency flashlight his dad always kept in the hall closet.

When he returned to the cabin, Miss Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh my,” she whispered. “I didn’t expect such kindness.”

Daniel helped her wrap the blankets tightly around her shoulders and handed her the hot soup. As she sipped, color slowly returned to her face.

“Daniel,” she said after a minute, “you remind me of your grandfather. He used to check on me too, back when your family first moved here. Always helping someone.”

Daniel felt warmth spread inside his chest—not from the fire, but something deeper. He didn’t feel strong or brave or saintly. He just felt… responsible. And strangely at peace.

“I just wanted to do what Jesus would do,” he said quietly.

Her eyes glistened. “Then you’re doing exactly the right thing.”

Together they checked the fireplace, and Daniel went outside to dig through the snow-covered woodpile. His gloves soaked through, and the cold bit his fingers, but determination fueled him. He gathered armloads of wood and carried them inside until the fire roared again, filling the cabin with fresh warmth.

Not long after, three neighbors arrived—Mrs. Harper from next door, Mr. Lopez from down the road, and Daniel’s mother. Each carried something: food, wood, warm clothing, and lanterns. Soon the small cabin transformed from a freezing, lonely shelter into a bustling circle of care.

As they worked, they talked—quietly at first, then with growing laughter. Mrs. Harper shared stories of her childhood winters. Mr. Lopez recalled how Miss Eleanor used to bake pies for the Fourth of July event at church. His mother hummed a hymn while preparing hot tea on the stove.

And Daniel watched.

Something was happening—something bigger than simply helping an elderly neighbor. People were coming alive. Fear was lifting. The storm still raged outside, but inside, love was casting out fear—just as Scripture says: “Perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18).

His mom touched his shoulder and whispered, “You started this, you know.”

Daniel shook his head. “No, mom… Jesus did.”

Word spread quickly across Grassy Creek. And soon, inspired by Daniel’s simple act of obedience, other families checked on elderly neighbors, opened their homes, shared food, and made sure no one in town endured the storm alone.

The mayor later called it “The Night of a Thousand Kindnesses.” But for Daniel, it was simpler. It was the night he learned that one small step of Christlike compassion could awaken a whole community to love. “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).

The next morning, the storm finally passed. Sunlight glinted off the snow like a sea of diamonds. The roads were still blocked, but the worst danger was over.

Daniel visited Miss Eleanor again before breakfast. She greeted him with a smile warm enough to rival the fire.

“Daniel,” she said gently, “last night you did far more than help me. You reminded me that God has not forgotten me, even in my old age. He sent you.”

Daniel looked down shyly. “I just… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“You were the hands and feet of Jesus,” she said. “Never doubt that small acts, done in love, make a great difference.” Her words echoed James 1:27, “Religion that God our Father accepts… is to look after widows in their distress.”

As Daniel walked home in the morning snow, he realized that following Jesus was simply about choosing to love as He did.

Sometimes that meant crossing a cold street in a storm. Sometimes it meant noticing someone others overlooked. Sometimes it meant doing the hard, uncomfortable thing because compassion demanded it.

And sometimes—all the time—it meant asking that simple question:

What would Jesus do?

And then doing it.

Ed Johanson © 11/16/2025

11/27/2025 – Isaiah 9:1-5 – David

11/20/2025 – God's Attributes: The Power of God – Bryan

11/13/2025 – The Broken Carpenter – Ed

11/06/2025 – Isaiah 8:19-22 – David

10/30/2025 – God's Attributes: The Holiness of God – Bryan

10/23/2025 – "A Light on Maple Street" – Ed

10/16/2025 – Isaiah 8:9-18 – David

10/09/2025 – God's Attributes: The Immutability of God – Bryan