Trivia question: What place on Earth has more thunderstorms than any other? 

Answer: The Tampa Bay area in Florida.  As the crow flies, it is forty-eight miles from the ranch to Tampa.  We get our fair share of thunderstorms.  As people say, in the summer, you can set your watch by the storms: every afternoon at about four, lightning pops and rain falls.

Even as a child, storms fascinated me.  I would go out on the screened-in porch and watch the rain pour off the steep roof of the Old House.  For some reason, lightning didn’t scare me.  It should have.  The lightning rods on the Old House were not grounded.  Lightning would hit the rods, run down the cable, and then arc into the ground.  I thought it was cool.  I remember the thunder shaking that frame house built by my great-grandfather.

At night, we could see storms dozens of miles away.  We watched the lightning arc across the sky and then stab at the earth.  The light show was better than the snowy picture on the TV. 

The Old House had a tin roof and no insulation.  Fat raindrops would beat against the roof, accelerating into sheets of rain sweeping across the house.  The best rain came at bedtime.  If you have never fallen asleep to the sound of heavy rain on a tin roof, you have never known true deep sleep.

Losing power was common.  We were literally at the end of the line.  There was no such thing as home generators in those days.  We had flashlights and candles.  If we lost power before bedtime, we’d play cards by candlelight.  I learned the basics of gin rummy by age five.  No power meant no water because we were on a well.  That meant we used the bathroom sparingly.  My brother and I had to stand on the back steps and … well, you know. 

I learned there was power in the storms.  After strong storms, we had to pick up limbs and pinecones.  Thankfully, God engineered oranges and cows to be able to withstand most thunderstorms.  Cows turn their backs to the wind.  Oranges stay on the tree until the wind gets over about fifty miles an hour.  Then you lose fruit.

One day, I was patching the fence.  I could see a storm coming about a mile away.  I was trying to finish when lightning struck about half a mile away.  I was holding onto the barbed wire, which caught the charge and traveled down the wire.  I was grounded, but the tingle that passed through me made my hair stand up.  I am convinced my hair loss began that day.

To this day, when a storm comes, I love to sit on the porch, feel the wind, and see the rain.  There is unexplained power in the storm.  I confess I envy Jim Cantore of the Weather Channel, standing out in the hurricanes.

Psalm 18 describes God coming to David’s rescue, riding on the storm.  He parted the heavens, dark clouds under his feet.  The dark rain clouds covered the sky around him.  Hail and lightning announced his presence.  God thunders from heaven and great bolts of lightning scatter David’s enemies.

David saw all God had done for him and knew there was an unexplainable power at work on his behalf.  He saw the storm served God; God did not serve the storm.  Maybe that is why Jesus was able to sleep through the violent storm on the lake that night.

 Job demanded to see God, and God appeared in the storm.  Have you ever heard how loud a storm can be?  God thunders out a reply to Job in the storm.  Job heard the voice of God, but more, he felt the power of the wind, the sting of the rain.  He felt the power and presence of God.  When the storm was over, he said, “I have heard of you with the hearing of the ear, but now I see you.”  You can’t explain a storm to someone who has never seen one.  You can’t explain God completely, but when you experience him, it changes your life.

Maybe that’s why I love storms.  It is the fresh wind of God, reminding me he has the power to do what I cannot do.  He is the powerful one, not me.  To see the storm is to marvel, praise, and respect him. 

Next time the wind blows, the thunder rolls, and the lightning strikes, pause.  Praise the God whose power cannot be explained.