Thunder

Dear God,

I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to hear rain falling, especially after days and days of rain in recent weeks (sorry for all that grumbling about days of rain while I lived in Williamsburg).  I’m not kidding with you.  And you’ve topped it off with good ol’ fashioned thunder.  Who would’ve thought that I’d ever smile at the sound of thunder?  I’m sure you didn’t… or maybe you did.  I don’t know if I’m supposed to be “sure” of much when it comes to you sometimes.  But I’m pretty sure you’ve known me through and through from the beginning of me, and so you know how I’ve felt about thunder.  And how little I’ve smiled over it.

A long time ago (at least to me), there was that flood outside of Comfort, TX.  And even though I don’t remember that special flood right after we moved there, I know there were lots of times when the low water crossings were way under water after that time.  And people got swept away after that time.  And people got swept away in low water crossings in San Antonio when we moved, too.  Thank you for not taking away any of my loved ones that way.  But you know, I’ve thought for a while that the way I felt about thunderstorms and consistent rain had little to do with an actual conscious fear of rain or thunder and much more to do with some sort of deep memory of that time it flooded after we moved to Comfort and the firefighters had to come and tell us to leave our house and get to higher ground.  I don’t even know if I’d call it being afraid so much as being on edge, as though I’m peeking out the corner of my eye, waiting for something to happen.  Something bad.  Maybe that is fear.  I don’t know.  You do, I guess.

Is that how Noah’s people felt for years?  Generations?  How long did it take for them to stop looking out the corner of their eyes every time it rained?  I know you promised, but… that was a big thing to go through.  Did Noah or his sons or their sons ever smile at thunder?  Maybe they did, maybe they saw it as a reminder of your promise, of the amazing thing that they’d lived through, of the blessedness of their very lives.

I smiled tonight at the thunder.  I breathed out.  I looked up, not to the side, and thought “Thank you, thank you, thank you God.”

You see, there was this fire.  On top of the worst drought we’ve had in a long, long time.  I know you know.  How strange that something so awful would end up turning some other something awful around.  That flood in ’87 has been transformed by fire and the Spirit.  I hear the thunder and the rain right now and I feel that you are with me, your rod and your staff – they comfort me.  My cup runneth over, and so do the sidewalks in Smithville with rain tonight.  Thank you, thank you, thank you God.

Amen.

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