There is a special place in my heart for rainstorms. Like the cool of the day that seems to promise His abidance, a full-fledged rainstorm is at once wild and liberating. Unrestrained because the might and power of the thunder’s roar, the cracking flashes of lightning and the strong gusts of wind that sweeps the blurry shower across the eaves of stout houses are unmatched by the contentious human’s shout in the bustling city. Truly a wonderful act of nature, and a reminder of our finitude, that man has not prevailed over nature. It reminds me of the greatness of the awesome God I worship and the miracles that He is able to perform, especially in a strait-laced, pragmatic urban city that I live in.
I remember back then when I was still a student not yet seventeen, how my cousin and my sister and housemaid — were caught in the throes of a rainstorm near home while on a walk. It was at once exhilarating yet reassuring. Is the thunder His voice? Does the wind signal Him passing by with the clouds as His chariot? Will the hills smoke and the mountains bow if they are nearby? While the wind and rain raged around us, without shelter, I reassured my frightened sister with the words that there was nothing to be afraid of. Because I was comforted by the sheltering storm which, though loud and fearful, sent a veil of cool and gentle rain to cover us. It was as as if someone infinitely-wise and important was watching over us, relieving our stresses and fears.
There are many kinds of storms, some during which the rain pelts hard, hot and fast, resulting in a cloying humidity that frustrates the burdened soul. Some are fleeting, some unending, some angry and unfamiliar. But I like the ones that upturn the atmosphere and bring cool air into our lives. The cool and gentle ones where thunder rumbles with controlled power with the gentle tones of a heavenly giant speaking and proclaiming His glory. Not the others.