Storm clouds were gathering when I left work, smothering the sunset. By the time I got home, just before my husband, the first fat drops were falling, splattering on the windshield. Safely inside, I listened to the rain become a torrent. Then the thunder started up. Wind shook the windows so hard I was sure it would pull down some power lines. Lightning ripped the sky.
I shivered and thought of my children, my two grown sons. One, I knew, ought to be home from work by now, but what about the other? Roger was a museum director who worked irregular hours and often stayed late. Had he made it home before the deluge?
Another jagged flash of lightning lit up the sky like a warning.
God, keep my son safe in this storm. I entrust him to you.
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The storm crashed above our house all during dinner. Watching it through the window, I tried not to think about the dangers it brought: low visibility, slippery streets and, worst of all, those lightning flashes.
Just as we finished eating, the phone rang. It was Roger.
“Mom,” he said, “you’ll never believe what just happened.”
“What?” I cried, fearing he’d been hurt.
“It had been raining for a while when I was leaving work,” he said. “I used the back door of the building because it was closer to where my pickup was parked. It was so dark out I could barely see my truck, but I did see that there was a big puddle right in front of the back door.
“I hesitated, trying to figure out how many steps it would take me to get through it. It looked like I was going to end up with a couple of soakers for sure. I was just about to leap in when lightning flashed. That’s when I saw there was a downed power line lying in the puddle. I would have stepped right in it if it hadn’t been for that lightning. I took the front door instead!”
He was right. I almost couldn’t believe it.
I’d asked God to protect Roger from the storm. He’d used the storm to protect Roger.
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