Sky

Sky.

A purple streak of lightning flashes across the inky black sky.  Here comes the storm.  The dark clouds roll in.  The thunder shakes the house.

I love a good storm.  Well, as long as I am safely snuggled up in my house and all my people are accounted for.   At times, the storms make me anxious, but at times I find comfort in knowing that all that commotion out there is done at the hand of God.

Storms like that remind me of a favorite childhood memory.  Each year when we gathered at my grandparents' house for Thanksgiving, there were always a lot of people there.  My grandma went all out for Thanksgiving dinner and the day-after fish fry.  What an amazing cook she was, and what a great hostess.  The way I remember it, she invited everyone from three counties to spend the day with us.  I am sure it wasn't quite that many people, but the house was definitely full and a little crowded.  

When it got to be a little much for all the grandkids, we would sneak upstairs to the bedroom in the attic.  It always seemed like a special treat to be up there because it was the boys' bedroom.  My cousin Amy and I always had to sleep downstairs wherever we could find.  Anyway, I had memories of all of us being piled and heaped together onto one tiny feather bed.  We would watch out the window at the big storm rolling its way in.  I know we did this many times.  It seemed like there was always a big storm at just the right time.  And what a way to observe God's tremendous power than snuggled up all together with a bunch of cousins!