There was a season in the nineteen-nineties when a strong afternoon wind would sweep across our village with remarkable consistency. I don't know if that wind still exists today, but back then, it became a reliable part of our routine, especially during harvest.
I remember hearing an elderly woman once say, “This wind comes for winnowing.” Her voice carried the wisdom of many seasons. And indeed, during harvest time, it was common to see women outside their homes, holding winnowing trays filled with maize, beans, peas, sorghum, or wheat. With practiced hands, they would toss the grains into the air, allowing the wind to blow away the chaff—the dry, useless husks—leaving only the valuable grain to fall back into the tray.
I used to watch this with a kind of quiet reverence, but years later, I found myself reflecting on that very wind, and it was as though the Spirit whispered a message to my soul: “Some winds come to separate what is good from the chaff.”
That simple memory became a divine revelation. I began to think about the different “winds” that have blown through my life—the unexpected challenges, the sudden losses, the uncomfortable transitions—and I asked myself, could these be the winds of winnowing in disguise?
At first glance, some of these events seemed purely destructive. I had blamed them on the devil, misfortune, or sheer bad luck. But on deeper reflection, I began to see something else: a divine process. A purging. A cleansing. A separation of what is essential from what is not. Some winds, I realized, come not to destroy us, but to remove what is holding us back from becoming our true, refined selves.
The vices we tolerate in our lives—bitterness, pride, laziness, deceit, jealousy, immorality—are the chaff. And eventually, a wind will come for them. Sometimes that wind takes the form of a life disruption—a job loss, a broken relationship, a spiritual crisis. And in the moment, it feels like an attack. But in truth, it might be a season of purification.
Take for instance the corporate world. When organizations begin to retrench or restructure, the immediate assumption is that the economy is failing or management is unjust. But what if the shaking is a wind designed to blow away mediocrity? What if it's a cleansing breeze to remove those who contribute little but expect much? If a wind blew through your workplace today, would you remain standing? Are you an asset—or the chaff?
The same applies to our homes, our marriages, and our ministries. Winds come, and not all are from the enemy. Some are heaven-sent. In geography lessons, we were taught that winds form due to the exchange of heat and pressure. That scientific truth mirrors a spiritual one: pressures, conflicts, and rising tensions in our personal lives often precede a spiritual wind—a divine moment of reckoning and revelation.
When those winds begin to blow, whatever is unstable or lacking in integrity is the first to fall. Families fracture, marriages crumble, careers stall, and ministries collapse—not because of external enemies but because of internal weaknesses. The chaff is too light to stand. And no matter how many prayers are raised or legal appeals made, what has been carried off by the wind is seldom restored. Why? Because it was never built to last.
One afternoon, I witnessed a whirlwind tear through a local open-air market. It came without warning, lifting clothing and lightweight goods into the air, scattering them in every direction. The stalls, poorly grounded, were tossed aside like leaves. But when the whirlwind reached a cluster of trees nearby, it stopped. The trees, rooted deep in the earth, did not move. They did not sway. They stood firm. That image stayed with me.
The trees endured because of their internal strength. What the wind cannot shake, it leaves alone. That is what we must become—rooted, stable, weighty in character. And how do we achieve that? By discarding the chaff in our lives. Chaff is what makes us weak. It is the sin we excuse, the compromise we normalize, the laziness we justify. It is the part of us that cannot withstand pressure.
We must ask ourselves: What in me is light enough to be blown away? Is it my integrity? My commitment? My work ethic? My faith?
The book of Psalms offers clear wisdom on this subject: "Happy are those who reject the advice of evil people, who do not follow the example of sinners or join those who have no use for God. Instead, they find joy in obeying the Law of the LORD, and they study it day and night. They are like trees that grow beside a stream, that bear fruit at the right time, and whose leaves do not dry up. They succeed in everything they do. But evil people are not like this at all; they are like straw that the wind blows away.” (Psalms 1:1–4, GNT).
The Word of God makes the distinction clear: The righteous are like trees, fruitful and firm. The wicked are like straw—light, rootless, and easily scattered. The question is, which one describes you?
If your life is defined by Godly character—honesty, diligence, humility, kindness, prayerfulness—then when the wind blows, you will remain. But if your life is cluttered with chaff—hidden sin, bitterness, envy, indolence—then the wind will not spare you. We cannot control the winds, but we can control what we are made of.
There is wisdom in living prepared. We do not wait for the storm to evaluate our foundation. We build strength now. We discard the chaff now. So, when the time of testing comes, we are not caught unready.
Discard the chaff in your life, and the wind meant to blow it will find nothing to carry. Instead, it will meet a life supported by pillars of uprightness. It will find a soul that cannot be uprooted because it is anchored in truth, built on integrity, and nourished by grace. Let the winds come. But let them find no chaff in you.
I remember hearing an elderly woman once say, “This wind comes for winnowing.” Her voice carried the wisdom of many seasons. And indeed, during harvest time, it was common to see women outside their homes, holding winnowing trays filled with maize, beans, peas, sorghum, or wheat. With practiced hands, they would toss the grains into the air, allowing the wind to blow away the chaff—the dry, useless husks—leaving only the valuable grain to fall back into the tray.
I used to watch this with a kind of quiet reverence, but years later, I found myself reflecting on that very wind, and it was as though the Spirit whispered a message to my soul: “Some winds come to separate what is good from the chaff.”
That simple memory became a divine revelation. I began to think about the different “winds” that have blown through my life—the unexpected challenges, the sudden losses, the uncomfortable transitions—and I asked myself, could these be the winds of winnowing in disguise?
At first glance, some of these events seemed purely destructive. I had blamed them on the devil, misfortune, or sheer bad luck. But on deeper reflection, I began to see something else: a divine process. A purging. A cleansing. A separation of what is essential from what is not. Some winds, I realized, come not to destroy us, but to remove what is holding us back from becoming our true, refined selves.
The vices we tolerate in our lives—bitterness, pride, laziness, deceit, jealousy, immorality—are the chaff. And eventually, a wind will come for them. Sometimes that wind takes the form of a life disruption—a job loss, a broken relationship, a spiritual crisis. And in the moment, it feels like an attack. But in truth, it might be a season of purification.
Take for instance the corporate world. When organizations begin to retrench or restructure, the immediate assumption is that the economy is failing or management is unjust. But what if the shaking is a wind designed to blow away mediocrity? What if it's a cleansing breeze to remove those who contribute little but expect much? If a wind blew through your workplace today, would you remain standing? Are you an asset—or the chaff?
The same applies to our homes, our marriages, and our ministries. Winds come, and not all are from the enemy. Some are heaven-sent. In geography lessons, we were taught that winds form due to the exchange of heat and pressure. That scientific truth mirrors a spiritual one: pressures, conflicts, and rising tensions in our personal lives often precede a spiritual wind—a divine moment of reckoning and revelation.
When those winds begin to blow, whatever is unstable or lacking in integrity is the first to fall. Families fracture, marriages crumble, careers stall, and ministries collapse—not because of external enemies but because of internal weaknesses. The chaff is too light to stand. And no matter how many prayers are raised or legal appeals made, what has been carried off by the wind is seldom restored. Why? Because it was never built to last.
One afternoon, I witnessed a whirlwind tear through a local open-air market. It came without warning, lifting clothing and lightweight goods into the air, scattering them in every direction. The stalls, poorly grounded, were tossed aside like leaves. But when the whirlwind reached a cluster of trees nearby, it stopped. The trees, rooted deep in the earth, did not move. They did not sway. They stood firm. That image stayed with me.
The trees endured because of their internal strength. What the wind cannot shake, it leaves alone. That is what we must become—rooted, stable, weighty in character. And how do we achieve that? By discarding the chaff in our lives. Chaff is what makes us weak. It is the sin we excuse, the compromise we normalize, the laziness we justify. It is the part of us that cannot withstand pressure.
We must ask ourselves: What in me is light enough to be blown away? Is it my integrity? My commitment? My work ethic? My faith?
The book of Psalms offers clear wisdom on this subject: "Happy are those who reject the advice of evil people, who do not follow the example of sinners or join those who have no use for God. Instead, they find joy in obeying the Law of the LORD, and they study it day and night. They are like trees that grow beside a stream, that bear fruit at the right time, and whose leaves do not dry up. They succeed in everything they do. But evil people are not like this at all; they are like straw that the wind blows away.” (Psalms 1:1–4, GNT).
The Word of God makes the distinction clear: The righteous are like trees, fruitful and firm. The wicked are like straw—light, rootless, and easily scattered. The question is, which one describes you?
If your life is defined by Godly character—honesty, diligence, humility, kindness, prayerfulness—then when the wind blows, you will remain. But if your life is cluttered with chaff—hidden sin, bitterness, envy, indolence—then the wind will not spare you. We cannot control the winds, but we can control what we are made of.
There is wisdom in living prepared. We do not wait for the storm to evaluate our foundation. We build strength now. We discard the chaff now. So, when the time of testing comes, we are not caught unready.
Discard the chaff in your life, and the wind meant to blow it will find nothing to carry. Instead, it will meet a life supported by pillars of uprightness. It will find a soul that cannot be uprooted because it is anchored in truth, built on integrity, and nourished by grace. Let the winds come. But let them find no chaff in you.
