Storms

It’s 5:30 AM. I lie on clammy sheets as low thunder rolls down the valley. Worries rumble in my head about grown children, sick friends, the metallic whomp, whomp in my right rear tire that’s probably $500 worth of tired ball bearings. My feet meet the damp floor. I need a cup of tea, the warm routine of it. I settle on the couch, my journal limp with humidity on my lap. Approaching lightning brightens the dreary mist as if someone is flicking a light switch on and off in a dim room. Sunflowers sway outside the window in the growing breeze. The sky opens and rain pours off the roof as my pen records the recent death of a boy in a distant daughter’s circle. He was driving home from a faraway state. Brimming with excitement, he called his brother on his cell. He’d met some Christians, he said. They were so different from what he expected, so comfortable… He was so distracted by the love of Christ, he swerved out of his lane smack into a semi. His brother heard the crash and the 911 crew over the undamaged phone.
Sunday on the way home from church, I witnessed an accident at a four way stop. A black sedan pulled out right in front of a silver compact. Their collision skidded within inches of my vehicle. Both drivers escaped without a scratch. In a world where any day anything can happen, I think of the thief on the cross beside Jesus. “Remember me when you come into your kingdom,” he said. Jesus answered, “Surely this day you’ll be with me in paradise.” On this stormy morning I take comfort in this Jesus, the living water, who quenches the dry heat of my anxieties.