Finding God in the Storm

What memories come to mind when you hear thunder roll in or lighting crack in the sky?

We had another thunderstorm in the middle of the night that awakened Caleb and thus me and Erin too. Caleb yelled from his room, “Daddy” and I could tell that he was tearing up. I ran up the stairs in a sleep-induced coma state praying that I wouldn’t miss a step and that Silas wouldn’t awaken by my heavy feet. When I got up to Caleb’s room, I quickly laid down in his bed next to him. He was scared. The wind and the rain from the storm were smacking hard against the window air conditioning unit about 8 feet away from Caleb’s bed. The rain gets trapped inside the machine and gets spun around again and again, making an awful sound of splashing water clanging against metal. I don’t blame Caleb for being scared.

Whenever I heard another shot of lightning I could feel Caleb pull my arm around him and push his back deeper into my chest. He could make it through the storm it seemed as long as I was holding him. In fact, when I thought he was asleep, I tried to quietly roll off the bed in order to go back downstairs but I was greeted with a, “No, Daddy, No!” My presence somehow provided security.

Yeah I didn’t get much sleep last night, but oh the joy of being a daddy. Which takes me back to my initial question, “What memories come to mind when you hear thunder roll in or lighting crack in the sky?”

I remember standing in the garage on the closest edge possible to the rain falling off the roof. I loved watching the light show that the storm brought, being rattled by thunder’s groan and witnessing rain blowing sideways. I loved storms…or so I thought until last night. Because the other thing that I remember about standing in the garage was the presence of safety and security. That presence was my dad. Even when the rest of my family was huddled under the stairs during tornado warnings, my dad would let me follow him up to watch the skies. I thought I liked watching the skies, but now I realize that I just wanted to do so with my Dad. I remember finding safety in my parents’ bed on scary nights. I remember crashing into my “safe presence” during emotional outbursts. I remember sitting on the floor of my dad’s old truck doing puzzles with my back to the road and no cares in the world because I knew my dad was driving.

This morning I am thankful. And I am also broken for those who have no presence like this in their life. They live in fear more than God ever intended. And I pray that they would ultimately realize the loving embrace of the One who created them who is there when they cry out, who is there when they need comfort and is there to offer a relationship that transcends the storms.