After a long cold winter, the earth has heaved a sigh of relief,
its warm breath moistening the air and spurring new growth.
In the afternoons, thunderheads have been sprouting against blue skies, promising rain and delivering little, though showers poured down all around us. But this morning, a storm kicked off with Goliath's bowling ball bouncing on the roof, followed by raging wind and rain.
I love Midwest thunderstorms; they always sound like they mean business. Growing up in the Northwest, most of the thunder I remember was distant and didn't send dogs slinking under the bed.
I was in my twenties the autumn I moved from Oregon to Kansas City. Dad had recounted with fondness the storms of his youth in Illinois, and I waited through a bitter winter before experiencing my first Midwest spring storm. Thunder jolted me awake in the middle of the night, and deciding to get all I could out of the show, I padded into the tiny apartment kitchen and popped some popcorn.
Back in the bedroom, I sat on the floor near the sliding glass doors, my neck craned, and watched in wonder as lightning split the sky, and the heavens roared. It was spectacular, everything I had hoped for.
I will never tire of the marvel thunder and lightning, or of the reminder that the One who made the storm is the One who loves us more than we can comprehend.
I will never tire of the marvel thunder and lightning, or of the reminder that the One who made the storm is the One who loves us more than we can comprehend.
Who can understand how He spreads out the clouds,
how He thunders from His pavilion?
Job 36:19
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son...
