Thunder trembles the ground. There isn’t a response from my soul other than to shiver.

I am safely inside, but my respectful fear keeps me in agreement that thunder is still scary. It’s like hearing the throne room of God. A low rumbling that reminds one that she isn’t as big and bad as she thinks.

Lightning brings about a sudden shock of brightness to illuminate my bedroom. It violates the calm nighttime darkness. It also causes a flicker to my touch-lamp beside my bed. I hate it when that happens. It’s spooky. As if God, Himself, is turning on my lamp. At least it returns to the “off” level of operation this time. Last time there was a storm, I awoke to the light on. Freaked me smooth out. I made sure that He knew I didn’t like it much. He had smiled and let me know He understood. I couldn’t tell if He was playing or not.

Lightning strikes a transformer in the city. The resounding BOOM makes me shiver again.

Secretly, I think I like West Texas storms. Weather. All of it.

Dust storms.

The haboob.


Tornado excitement.

Ice storms.



And, those “liquid sunshine” rains, as my mom calls them.

I don’t tell those I’m around what I think, but maybe I should. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t look at me like I’m crazy if I expressed my love for wind. Or, the dust storms it brings. And, yeah, I like it when the conditions are good for forming funnel clouds. Hmm. They might run me out of Lubbock on an emu.

But the weather breaks in.

It stops me.

It stops us all.

Sometimes I’m desperate for a physical reminder that God is big. That He created both big and tiny things, all of them complex. That He loves me big. That He can move on our behalf big. That I don’t serve a dead god, but THE living God.

He is to be feared, loved, respected.

He isn’t small.

How sad that it takes breaking in for me to get the jolting reminder.

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.” Psalm 19:1 (NIV)


And do they declare, or what?

and the heavens declare

by Keviana Elliot time to read: 2 min