Usually you can feel a thunderstorm coming. My limited experience with light up close is that you can feel it coming just moments before it strikes. A recent experience from the balcony of my 33rd floor apartment serves as a reminder that even the common is not predictable.
I was sitting on the sofa reflecting, writing, and intermittently turning to watch the sky. A rain app on my iPhone has chirped a few minutes ago to let me know it was raining nearby. I was a bit puzzled. While there were storm clouds in all directions, nothing looked imminent. I resolved the puzzle by assuming that this was one of the rare occasions where I was notified about something that may have been real someone else, but just not here.
As the minutes passed, my attention to the fleeting puzzle morphed into a forgotten memory. Nothing prepared or warned me for what followed. I was mid-sentence and it was as if everything was exploding!
My hair was standing on end, my eyes temporarily stunned by the white light that seemed to envelope the room, and the thunder clap was as if was right below my seat. I have been close to lighting twice before but this seemed worse. It was as if I was in the middle of the extreme, not the edge.
The moment was here and as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. As I went back to writing one thought lingered. If what I just experienced was natural, what form would something Divine take? David’s observation is one that fits; “With one blow you split the sea in two, you made mincemeat of the dragon Tannin.” (Psalm 74.13) I can imagine others, subtle, bold, overwhelming, and totally missed unless you were aware of being touched.
As I continue my reflection on the bolt, I find myself wondering why I did not anticipate the moment. Much like other signs, I ignored the obvious. When the warnings did not fit my expectations, I carried on unawares. Sadly the description fits more than storms.
