Glossy Streets

There has been a beautiful thunderstorm passing over us these last few hours. Such wonderful memories associated with them. And tonight I look out on the glossy streets of Airdrie with the rain pelting, thunder pounding, and lightning flashing and soak in the moment. As vehicles drive by focussed on the road ahead, I watch the trails of light left behind as they pass into the night. The glassy reflections are distorted and soon lost in the splashes and flashes of other events caused by greater hands.

I remember many nights following storms across the sky before my parents' picture window and taking in the awe-inspiring experience. Here in town you get glimpses and reflections, as if you are waiting in the theatre lobby and haven't yet purchased your tickets. For me, there is that anticipation following a flash: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 'rumble' knowing where that jolting shock came from, how far away it is, and the sheer power of the inescapable blast of fury.

I remember one night returning from Saskatoon Lake, Dad with his camera leaning out the window to capture the event and the subsequent shock that followed as the strike CRACKED on the power pole next to us that caused him to jerk his head back into the vehicle. Moments later down the road, Dad paused to help a stranded motorist, something I still can't help doing because of his example, and KABLAM! a second strike that tripped the lines next to us and sent a surge of electricity down the lines and up our spines. Dad hopped back in and stared at us staring back at him. That same night, shortly after our arrival to home, our safe haven, BOOM! Behind our house, a tree is split and splintered in an awesome display of power and majesty.

You don't easily forget a night like that. Three times the hand of God showed itself mightily; one hand protecting in mercy, the other proving His greatness. All enough to say, "Wow - isn't He incredible?" I missed the picture window tonight, Mom & Dad. I missed the open fields and the air over Bear Lake. I miss the view of a farm boy on the front step. But this is still nice. I can still appreciate it. At least I still know who calms the storms with a word and his own hands.

- Mark