(are you a World War II buff? if so, you got the reference.)
We had plenty of weird, wet weather yesterday.
It was a good day to build forts and hole up inside, except when the thunder rolled and the 3-year-old shrieked.
As in, run-through-the-house-with-a-terrified-look kind of shriek.
I explained to him that it was just thunder. As in, “It’s okay, honey. That’s just thunder.” But it didn’t work; he needed more.
And so I improvised. “You know those big clouds that are up in the sky?”
“Yes,” came the answer. It was a little voice.
“Well, sometimes those big clouds run into each other. When they do, one of them says,” (and here I dropped my voice about a dozen octaves) ” ‘PARDON ME.’ And then the other one says,” (I went even lower than seems womanly possible), ” ‘PARDON ME.’ ”
The 3-year-old giggled.
It was okay.
And it remained okay the rest of the day…throughout a haircut (we went during a lull in that weird, wet weather) and more thunderstorms and a crazy, pink-colored late evening sky.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the 3-year-old who ended up nervous at all. It was the 7-year-old who looked at that weird, pink sky and asked, “Do tornadoes sometimes come in the night?”
“Yes, Honey,” I told her. I told her the truth. “Yes, they do.”
“Are you in a state of grace?” I continued. She nodded, still looking plenty solemn. “Then you have nothing to fear.” I asked her to bring me my Bible and together we read from the Gospel of Matthew: “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”
It’s an age of reason thing.
It’s moving beyond those clouds that talk…to a faith that sustains us when life gets hard.
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