Safety Thunder

The LORD thundered from heaven;

 the voice of the Most High resounded amid the hail and burning coals.

~Psalm 18:13

I wrote this piece in 2009.

I love thunderstorms. They make me feel comfortable and safe and perfectly peaceful.

           

When I was young, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, thunderstorms were enough to occasion family meetings. No planning, no finding time around too-crowded schedules, no set time to leave. When God started bowling, we all went out to watch.

Thunder was the sound of God’s bowling ball smacking his heavenly pins. The lightning flashes, of course, were the sparks from this collision. It took time for the sound to get here, my Dad informed me: a sort of semi-truth mixed with myth. God always made strikes. Looking back, I can’t see how I ever reconciled the bowling theory with my equally firm belief that rain was God taking a shower. Perhaps he just left the water running.

When God made his first strike, I assume that, like most children, I was frightened and ran to my mom. But once with her, all was well. Better than well, for the thunder meant that it was time to gather all the blankets carelessly strewn among the couches and toys in the family room and create a nest on our covered porch. With her back to the house, my mom would cuddle me in her lap. Dad would hold my hand, his other arm wrapped around Mom’s shoulders. Sometimes my sisters or brother would come too, but my Mom and Dad are the immovable pillars of the scene.

I am sure that with the wind driving the rain at a slant, my parents’ feet got soaked through the blankets. But they never complained and I never knew. All I knew was that thunder meant warmth, thunder meant family, thunder meant safety.