I’ve never been a fan of storms.
As an eight year old, I remember sneaking down the stairs at my grandmother’s house during an overnight storm to quietly curl up on the floor next to their bed. Just when I thought I’d gotten away with it, I heard Ma-Ma (my dad’s mother) whisper, “Cathy, if you’re afraid, you only need to pray. God will protect you in the storm.” She proceeded to pray aloud that night and I fell fast asleep.
Storms continued to be my foe throughout childhood and early adulthood, so much so that I became physically sick at just the mere mention of a storm in the area.
Fast forward to last night. The rain fell so fast and furious that I couldn’t see the buildings across the street. Brian wasn’t there, but all was well. I scooped up Rupert, two pillows, my ginger ale, and the one thing every person needs in a blinding storm, their Kindle.
A call from my Aunt Elaine jolted me from my novel, and a sweet jolt it was. The storm had reminded her of a time when, in an attempt to help me see thunder as a friend rather than a foe, my mom taught me to look up, smile, and say, “Hello, Mr. Thunder!”.
I smiled as I realized how life had come full circle. I’m still not a fan of storms, but I’d prayed while gathering my things and was at such ease that I’d actually read long after the storm had passed. Ma-Ma would be proud.
Nevertheless, the little girl inside of me was more than happy to say “Goodbye, Mr. Thunder!” last night.
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