We've had a few of our first Spring thunderstorms this week, short but powerful, cracking and crashing through the heavens. I look forward to them every year, and stop what I'm doing to listen attentively until they pass away.
I was still a child when I realized that many people were afraid of the sound of thunder, and it amazed me. I had always thrilled to the sound of thunder, as did my brothers and my sister. From where did this fear of the very sound of thunder come? Loud noises, I guess, are strange, and reason enough to fear if unexplained. We never feared because we knew exactly what they were. My father was no scientist, but he did take the time to explain to us what those loud noises were, and he did it in terms simple enough for us to understand.
That's God, bowling with his angels. If you listen close enough, you can tell the gutter balls from the strikes. You can hear the long rolling of the ball down the lane, and the crashing into the pins. And often after the the strike, you can hear, if you listen well, the smaller thumping of angel feet as they jump up and down in celebration of a good score.
Now who could ever hear thunder, knowing exactly what it is, and be afraid of that?