A Thunderstorm in Cincinnati

Last night a thunderstorm rolled through Cincinnati. I love thunderstorms. Lightning may be my most favorite weather event. It's not the sustained destructive power of a hurricane, or the chaotic uncertainty of a tornado, or the terror of a tsunami, or the peace of a gentle breeze, or the hope of the setting sun. It's a flash of power. It's beautiful from a distance and terrifying up close. Undeniably intoxicating, from any angle.

So I found myself standing in my front lawn at 11:30 p.m., watching the lightning dance through the distant clouds. I couldn't hear the thunder and there was no rain, so it was just a light show. The light would flash directly ahead of me, just behind the clouds near the horizon, partially blocked from my view by a tall oak tree. Then I would crane my neck as the occasional flash would reach to the sky directly above my head. Once there was a long roll of thunder behind me and to the right, as if the sound was reverberating off the back of the sky.

I called for Rob to join me outside. He stood with me for a few moments and we watched the playful lightning while our kids slept soundly inside. I wanted to wake my oldest and have her come and see the lightning, too. I knew she would watch it with wonder, as I did. Rob, however, was tired. He agreed that it was beautiful, gently squeezed my hand, and said he was going to bed. Oh. Right. Bed.

I went back inside and started brushing my teeth. On my way to our bedroom, though, I felt myself pulled to the front door. How could I sleep and miss the show? I returned to the same spot in my front lawn, and kept watching the lightning. One flash turned my head to the right, as lightning jumped from one cloud to the next. It happened slowly, as if someone had drawn it with a pencil, and the image lingered for a moment. A breeze lazily touched the edges of the neighbor's trees.

I wanted to lay down in the middle of my lawn, close my eyes and just stay there. Listening to the gentle nothing, the flashes of light reaching my eyelids. I could open my eyes to watch more as I pleased. But before I could obey the impulse, a thought crossed my mind, "As if I have nothing better to do."

This gave me pause. What DID I have better to do? What is better than admiring the Power that created lightning and gave us wondrous shows of love, power, and creation? Clearly I needed to go to bed some time that night. But why not sacrifice a few hours of sleep? Oh. Right. I have kids. 3 of them. And kids wake up, full of needs, whether or not I acquired enough sleep.

I sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of defeat. It was a recognition that I was doing something good with my life. Being a mother is the only thing I've ever done that I've known is Right. Unconditionally, categorically Right. I smiled as I voluntarily left the light show and walked into the house, with this thought on my brain:

God is God. I am a mother. And life is good.