Thunderstorms

When I was a kid, I used to watch the thunderstorms come and go.  I hated them when I was real young, or so I think.  They scared me.  Mom used to tell me that the angels were bowling in heaven.  And when lightening struck, it was because someone got a "strike."  Clever, right?  Yes, I know most mommies tell this to their children, or some similar tale. 


When I got older, like high school, I began to love thunderstorms.  Not because the bowling tale was believable, but because I found it absolutely phenomenal that the heavens could do something so powerful that would shake the ground beneath my feet and rattle the house, or light up the sky with one stroke of light.  It was interesting.  I used to sit on the front porch of a friend's house and watch them with her.  I remember a time like this when she told me her life story.  We must have been out there for hours.  By the end, I was practically in tears.  Now, I'd like to keep her name confidential just because it's polite and I didn't ask her if I could share her story anyway.  But here's the brief story.  She was abused as a kid by her father.  She watched as her sisters were thrown against the wall for no good reason.  Her mother was abused.  Her mother has MS.  After her mother was handicapped by this horrendous condition, my friend took over the responsibilities of the household while her sisters (3 of them) lived their lives.  (Her parents divorced when she was young.)  She was home-schooled until fifth grade.  By the age of 11, she knew how to balance a checkbook as she took care of paying all of the bills.  She attempted to get her sisters to follow a chore chart.  In reality, she did most of the cleaning.  If the cleaning didn't get done by her, it didn't get done.  Period.  She took care of her mother.  Giving her shots when necessary or medicines.  Making her mother's doctor appointments.  I'm pretty sure she mastered every life skill by the age of 12.  I had no idea what to say or what to do.  I was probably in 8th grade, maybe 9th grade listening to this story from a girl who had hardly said anything EVER to me.  Turns out she was one of the only people I could share my heart with, and I did that sparingly because my life seemed so insignificant to hers.  Nonetheless, I still think about sitting on that porch speechless every time a thunderstorm rolls around.  I wonder what fascinated her about thunderstorms.  I never asked.  Perhaps I should have.  We hardly stay in contact anymore now that she's a married woman with her whole life ahead of her, but she is still one of the greatest Christians I have ever known...


Thunderstorms are hard on my body, but I still love to watch them.  I'm looking forward to them tomorrow, even though it will probably rain out the event I'm supposed to help with, but probably won't end up going at all so I can see my Aunt D.  :)  BUT...Without a doubt, as I'm watching the storms with a cup of orange juice (since I can't find a gluten-free hot chocolate mix) and a good book, I will remember that porch.  I can see it in my mind right now, her face.  The solemness that she spoke with as she spilled her life to me.  I remember trying my hardest to hold back the tears that wanted to flow from my eyes.  I remember the feeling of how blessed, how IMMENSELY blessed I felt after hearing her story. 


It's amazing what thunderstorms can do...