Wrangler Dani

When I was a little girl, I told my parents that I wanted two big draft horses – one black and one white – and I would name them “Thunder” and “Lightning”. How I would train and control such monstrous beasts was no concern, of course – the larger and wilder the better, in my mind, just like a swift summer storm.

Every night this week, late afternoon summer thunderstorms have rolled in, reminding me of the dreams of my childhood. The warm wind makes my windows shudder and the clouds roil and billow above, reminding me just how small I am. Last night I sat in my living room until late, watching flashes and bolts of lightning fill the sky and listening to the sounds of wind and thunder. As I watch the storm, it’s easy to think about how to control it, or at least its effects. Did I cover the grill? Should I pull in the flag? Will there be a wildfire?

Instead, though, I want to give in to the power of the storm like I did as a little girl – not considering to-do lists or worries, but rather awed by the bigness and mystery of it, astounded by my own place in such a beautiful and surprising world. I want to dream big dreams and hope for far-fetched wishes. I want to remember optimism and wonder, faith and beauty, and watch them intersect. I want the power of thunder and lightning to remind me of who I am and who God is, and why it matters that I’m here at all.

“The clouds poured out water;
the skies gave forth thunder;
your arrows flashed on every side.
The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind;
your lightnings lighted up the world;
the earth trembled and shook.”
(Psalm 77:17-18)