The Heavens are Telling the Glory of God

I guess that, when I was growing up, there were thunderstorms at all times of the day. But, I don’t particularly recall any daytime or afternoon showers. I do remember those that occurred in the dead of night, the crashing, house-quaking thunder, and the giant jolts of light at my windows. Those were scary, scary things. And I was not about to live through them all by myself. Nothing sent me scurrying faster to my parents’ bed than a middle-of-the-night storm.

Even now, I still remember the feel of Mother’s nightgowns on my cheek and the comfort of her arms around me as she soothed away my fright of the unexpected noise and light. And I remember that, sometimes, we were alone. Because Daddy, in addition to loving his wife and daughters, also adored big ol’ weather, especially in the middle of the night.

When the first rumbles of a nighttime storm rattled the windows, he was wide awake and out the door. While I cowered in his warm bed, he sat on the front porch and enjoyed the show. Every clap of thunder was exciting. Every slash of lightning was exhilarating. The pouring rain, tumbling down the street, was energizing.

We’ve had several waves of thunderstorms the past few days. They have been nighttime storms. Lots of bright lightening. Huge claps of thunder. Buckets and buckets of rain. There’s been standing water at the back of the yard (where I really thought I’d moved enough dirt to fill in the bog that used to be there). But we had sun yesterday and this morning and afternoon. All the plants look healthy. And everything looks clean.

: The bog at the back of the yard has almost dried up.

: There’s still a little standing water in the garden, but I think tomorrow’s sunshine will help it evaporate.

: I don’t remember water puddling in this bed. But, as I look carefully at the photo, I see, reflected in all that water, that the bottom of the drainpipe is completely split. So, of course, the water poured into the bed instead of gushing out onto the grass.That explains it. I think/hope we have an extra piece of it.

Even though it’s not the same bed, when I was wakened a couple of nights ago by loud cracks of thunder, I was in almost the exact same place in the exact same room where I used to snuggle against my mother when a storm frightened me. I rather like the stormy weather now. The window was opened a little bit and the freshness of the rain and the bit of chill made me snuggle comfortably in our bed. And, from a practical standpoint, it meant that I won’t have to turn on the sprinklers for a while.

In 1953, here in Waco, there was a terribly destructive tornado that hit downtown, killing 114 and injuring 597. It’s tied with a 1902 tornado in Goliad, Texas, for 11th on the list of deadliest tornadoes in the country. We had just moved into a new house, and I was a couple of days away from my 3rd birthday. I don’t remember much at all about it. Daddy had to travel with his job as a Field Examiner for the Veteran’s Administration. He was away from home, Monday through Thursday, every other week. And he was gone the week the tornado hit. Phone service was sketchy, because of the stormy weather, and, of course, hundreds of people trying to reach their friends and family members in Waco. Some of the phone calls from Mother’s relatives came through in the middle of the night. We had one of those phone niches in the wall right outside my bedroom door, and I remember waking up and seeing and hearing her on the phone. I’m sure she was feeling lonely and anxious and worried about her own friends that night. Years later, she told me that she had encouraged me to come and sleep in her bed. I said, emphatically, “No!” Since my babyhood, we had lived in a duplex, and I shared a bedroom with Mother and Daddy. I had very much looked forward to sleeping in a room of my own. By myself. I had gotten over that by time I was 9 or so.

Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth;
break forth, O mountains, into singing!
For the Lord has comforted his people,
and will have compassion on his suffering ones.

Isaiah 49:13 (New Revised Standard Version)

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