Storms? It's about perspective...

“Storms make the oak grow deeper roots.”

– George Herbert

It's summer monsoon season here in Arizona. Because we are at the base of the Catalina Mountains, there are brief periods of fast moving water across roads and in washes decompressing the unbelievable volume of water rapidly collecting from the mountain slopes. The power of nature is so awesome all that can be done is try to manage its effects.

There was one such powerful summer storm today. Sitting in the small alcove just outside the door to our home, I have a front row seat – a dry seat – to a magnificent thunderstorm. The streets in our neighborhood act as water conduits, and when it rains hard, they look like small, blackened rivers of incredibly fast moving water.

There is something soothing about thunderstorms. The torrent of falling rain provides a paradoxical sense of comfort, stillness, and isolation. It is a little strange, but there are few things I enjoy more than a full-throated downpour accompanied by the occasional whip-cracking explosive bang of nearby lightning strikes and rolling thunder.

I owe this feeling of awe and comfort to my mother, as I do so many positive attributes in my life. She had friendliness and comfort genes, which made people feel welcome and safe in her presence.

Safety would be the watchword here because my earliest memory of heavy storms was not so pleasant. We were in Canada and driving along the narrow roads of cottage country one night in a storm. While the exact year is not clear, the event is. There was a brilliant flash somewhere nearby, an earsplitting explosion, followed quickly by the acrid smell of ozone produced when the powerful electric charge, split two oxygen molecules and temporarily reconstituted them into a three molecule construct.  The air felt charged, and as I recall, my sinuses instantly cleared…I was terrified.

I huddled down in the front seat of the car as Mum, pulled off to the side of the road. She rubbed my back and said, "It's okay honey, that was just the angels bowling tenpins. One of them got a strike."  It was her way of taking a frightening event and making it something of an awesome wonder. We got back on the road for the short ride to the cottage…my head in her lap. As was her custom, she later revisited the event in the context of the breathtaking spectacle of storms and how they were part of God’s plan.

She was a great story-teller…never more in her element than when they were from the Bible. In this case, it was the book of Ecclesiastes where Solomon describes the cycle of rain falling, being taken back up to the clouds and falling again…my first science lesson. Thunder and lightening were part of God’s remarkable plan to keep his planet fresh and sustained. That was her way.

The foundation she laid in my mind and heart took away fear and replaced it with wonder. My mother was quick to make me understand that storms could be dangerous, but if I were respectfully careful, I did not need to fear them.

Before we had our own cottage, some of our relatives took turns staying in the family cabin…ours came in August. The best part of this place, in the context of storms, was the covered veranda that faced the bay on Lake Joseph. When summer rains came, you could embrace the storm while staying dry.

At one end of the porch was a small, screened-in area that had a bunk bed. There are few memories in my life more pleasantly powerful than lying on the bottom bunk listening to the pounding of the rain and on the roof.

The thunder and lightning? Thanks to my mother, they were the burnt sugar topping on the Crème Brûlée of a summer storm.

Over the years, I have been in weather that was dangerous and scary…driven in the rain so heavy, I could barely see the road…lightning strikes so close as to stand my hair on end, but other than the momentary fear, I have always felt appreciation for the power of the event.

Sitting here today is no exception…the downpour evoking so many appreciative memories. It brought my mother to my mind, and while I was reminded of that early event, I closed my eyes as she and I visited together on any number of other topics.

During my journey with this woman, I learned to weather any number of storms. She helped to take away the fear and to see them as a part of the journey. She understood life did not always bring clear and sunny skies. She provided a covered veranda to help me see that no matter the circumstance, much could be appreciated from the storm.

Little doubt, “There is something soothing about thunderstorms…”

- ted