Andrea Sanborn

A rock ledge, hidden among the sage and manzanita, was my childhood place to watch the storms roll in. Perched there, small at the edge of my known world, I watched clouds inching closer, consuming the valley below, until they reached me, scooting winter’s breath under my jacket.

I welcomed the change, standing up to meet the cold gusts sweeping over my hiding place. My warm home was near, comforting, but not yet, I thought. Not yet, as I tasted the sharp drops against my face.

There is something uniquely glorious about a storm. Whether it approaches in a whisper or a boom, the display humbles me. It calls me out to taste and see a source invisible, yet so very present.

I have tromped through wet woods, dripping with mystery. Lifted my face to flake and drop. Breathed mountain sage and pine after a thunderous downpour. Watched lightning flicker and flame in the heavens. The God of glory thunders, the shepherd boy penned. He knew it too.

We designed our small house with a large overhang where we sit in awe at the storms here, and last night the distant sunset blazed fire, even as lightning flickered above us. The receding clouds glowed in lavender glory. My husband had just preached a sermon on awe, foretelling that moment beneath the eaves.

He rides upon the storms, the Psalms sing. Upon the wings of the wind. He makes the clouds his chariot. All ways to point to His glory.

We need these reminders, don’t we? We need the Scriptures and the sermons and the books. We need the wild evenings under the eaves, under the trees, on the edges of mountains as the storms roll in.

I need them, as consumed as I am with myself. I need his wind to blow away my small thoughts. I need the stinging, stunning cold to snatch my breath and remind me how each one is a gift. I need the lightning to light my way home.

As a child on the edge of the mountains, I had no distractions to pull me away from heaven’s display. Just my dog and me, breathing the dampening air, waiting and watching. Now I must put aside a parade of comforts in order to step outside and wait. To become that girl again, expectant.

Have you tasted the rain? Turned your face to the wind? Embraced the wild freedom of forces beyond your control?

We need the storms; to welcome them with open arms and open windows. We need to feel small in their midst sometimes, and yet surrounded by glory. To remember that sometimes, the God of glory thunders.