A Summer Storm

It pierces the night.
The lightning.
It rattles the panes.
The thunder.

Rising, I make the coffee and turn on the news to make sure it is only
A Storm.

Already awake, I wait and watch as the dark skies are pierced
Over and over
With the bold flashes of light.

Slowly and quietly, I ascend the stairs to make sure the children are still sleeping.

And there she sits, straight up in my bed, looking for me.

The storm has awakened her.
And she was waiting.
For me to tell her all is well.
"Lie down, sweet girl.  It's just a summer storm.  It will pass.  Go back to sleep."
And, assured, sleep she does.

And I remember another storm.
And scared to death sailors.
And a sleeping master.
Who, when awakened, not by the storm but by the crying men, commanded peace.
And their amazement.
And his bewilderment at their lack of faith.

And I remember my storms.
My worries. My fears.
Every sleepless night I lie awake with worry. Anxiety.
Every unanswered question.  Every curveball.  Every unexpected turn.

There are no unknowns to God.
There is no moment He is bolted awake in fear from a storm.
He is the one, standing nearby, alert and watchful, 
Reassuring me:

"Lie down, my child.  It's only a storm.  It will pass.  Rest."
Matthew 11:28-29