On occasion, I gazed over the horizon as a wall cloud formed, unable to look away. This seemed particularly foolish from my third-floor apartment, as a single person, during an overactive tornado season. I thought this, even as I stood transfixed at the wonder and majesty of the storm forming a few miles away. A few years later, in another storm, I found myself much less calm. In the last trimester of my first pregnancy, I stayed with my parents due to my husband’s deployment. One of the first thunderstorms of the season woke me, and no matter how much I prayed, I could not find a sense of peace or get comfortable. I attribute all of this to my pregnancy. Dietrich is often afraid of thunderstorms, just as he did not like that first one.

Thunder in the mountains adds a new level of awe, as the booms echo off the mountainside. The rumbles continue as though you are sitting in tympani drums. I miss living in Colorado when I remember the awesome percussion symphony of thunderstorms there.

At our house in Germany, it seemed that thunder and lightning surrounded us during storms. Our village rolled along with a series of hills. We felt perfectly safe, nestled between a larger hill and the valley. In fact, we thought tornadoes were an improbability in Germany until the summer before we moved, when one touched down near the airbase. One evening, I took a video as the clouds rolled in with a constant lightning show. Then I dissected that video and created a still image of the perfect lightning strike pictured above.

Thunderstorms display God’s power, creating both awe and fear. Throughout Scripture, storms remind us of how small we are and how powerful God is. Jesus spoke, and the wind and waves obeyed Him. The same power that leaves me standing transfixed by a thunderstorm belongs to the One who created it.