Has the smoke cleared?

It’s a strange thing, at times almost beautiful though amidst a scene of desolation, the peace that descends in all quietude on the place where once a great house stood that has gone up in flames during the night, leaving whisps of smoke curling to a soft morning breeze and, underfoot, littered invisibly among charred, fallen timbers, glowing embers.
Or as Job, having finally fallen asleep where he lay alone in the ash pit scraping his sores, abandoned there by his faithless wife who had mocked him, “Why persist in your blamelessness? Curse God, and die!” is suddenly awakened in the dark night by the almost inaudible voices of argumentation going on somewhere in the blackness above him between his advocate YHWH and his antagonist, one claiming to be a son (or could it have been a daughter) of God, “No! He only serves You because You supply all his needs! Desert him, and see how he will curse You to Your face!”

What must be fulfilled will be fulfilled.
The fruit of pride, rebellion and apostasy remains on the tree a little longer. Then, without warning, for not having been harvested its loathesome weight bows the tree down until finally it splits, exposing light, living wood within the fissured bark of the ravaged trunk and branches. The tree will be cut down, savagely, by a relentless axe, neither the evil fruits nor the pain of wrath will be remembered henceforth. Only the fresh, hopeful sprigs arising from the otherwise barren stump will bear witness to what could have been, will follow the sun in its course, as He draws them up to Himself.

Saviour of fugitives, Christ our God, have mercy on us!