I checked the weather report. That is important. We live in Colorado and this state is second only to Florida for lightning strikes. I do not choose a high precipice to pitch a tent when rain is in the forecast. Tonight chance of rain, hour by hour, was zero.
Zero.
And then after we went to bed the winds came. And the skies lit up. And the rains came, high on my perch, camping with my grandson, overlooking the city. It was glorious.
And it was incredibly dangerous.
I texted Chuck. “Please keep an eye on the current lightning strikes map online.” Brave was asleep. It was cold, raining, wet, slippery, steep and windy. And dark. Very dark. Do we need to make a run for it? We are literally at the highest point of a crest. Sitting ducks in a lightning storm.
A grandma and a child.
This afternoon Brave and I shared a beautiful conversation about level setting and recognition things do not always turn out as we expect. That is what turns an outing into an adventure. And we expected adventure and agreed in advance we would take surprises in stride.
We did.
I was calm as the winds swirled and the skies flashed and crashed. I woke up Brave, smiling. I equipped him with a flashlight, gave him directions, explained we were ditching everything but a few essentials like the car keys and my pillow and his bear and our hiking poles— we got this.
I did not tell him as we descended in the blackness of the night I was also flashing the terrain to check for reflective eyes announcing a nocturnal predator. This is bobcat/bear/coyote/mountain lion territory. But I did remind him to stay close behind me as I led the way.
I have intercessors, people who love me and pray for me. Three were awake. Three were praying. And I was in total peace, a peace my heart could convey to my grandson. I recognized it as the same hunkering down peace I felt when I landed in Hong Kong in the midst of the riots, with my hosts stuck in a neighboring country leaving them and me stranded.
Peace.
Peace in the midst of the storm. That is Who He is.
Christ in me.
You can have Him too. And when you must also make a run for it, you will not be alone.
Zero.
And then after we went to bed the winds came. And the skies lit up. And the rains came, high on my perch, camping with my grandson, overlooking the city. It was glorious.
And it was incredibly dangerous.
I texted Chuck. “Please keep an eye on the current lightning strikes map online.” Brave was asleep. It was cold, raining, wet, slippery, steep and windy. And dark. Very dark. Do we need to make a run for it? We are literally at the highest point of a crest. Sitting ducks in a lightning storm.
A grandma and a child.
This afternoon Brave and I shared a beautiful conversation about level setting and recognition things do not always turn out as we expect. That is what turns an outing into an adventure. And we expected adventure and agreed in advance we would take surprises in stride.
We did.
I was calm as the winds swirled and the skies flashed and crashed. I woke up Brave, smiling. I equipped him with a flashlight, gave him directions, explained we were ditching everything but a few essentials like the car keys and my pillow and his bear and our hiking poles— we got this.
I did not tell him as we descended in the blackness of the night I was also flashing the terrain to check for reflective eyes announcing a nocturnal predator. This is bobcat/bear/coyote/mountain lion territory. But I did remind him to stay close behind me as I led the way.
I have intercessors, people who love me and pray for me. Three were awake. Three were praying. And I was in total peace, a peace my heart could convey to my grandson. I recognized it as the same hunkering down peace I felt when I landed in Hong Kong in the midst of the riots, with my hosts stuck in a neighboring country leaving them and me stranded.
Peace.
Peace in the midst of the storm. That is Who He is.
Christ in me.
You can have Him too. And when you must also make a run for it, you will not be alone.
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