As I sit here on my bed and reflect on the last three weeks of last times, graduations, and farewells, a massive storm is keeping me awake. And I love it. I adore the rain pounding on the roof, the thunder shaking the sky, and the lightening illuminating my bedroom through the window. Thunderstorms never fail to remind me of God's incredible power and His never-ceasing control.
I suppose I've always loved storms like this. Maybe when I was little I was afraid of them at one time or another, but to my knowledge they have always impressed me. Yet I learned two years ago that I had never seen or felt or heard the breathtaking power of a thunderstorm until I was surrounded with them in Nicaragua.
In Nicaragua, the rain does not only make you wet. It completely drenches you.
In Nicaragua, the thunder is not only demanding of attention. It renders you incapable of devoting attention to anything else.
In Nicaragua, the lightening does not only light up the sky. It illuminates your entire world.
You cannot simply observe a storm in Nicaragua. You are enveloped in it. Enclosed. Captured. Immersed. I could use as many words as a thesaurus can offer but I cannot explain it unless you've felt it.
One of my most vivid memories of Nica was almost exactly a year ago now. I'll try to paint a picture of it, but it won't be exactly the same.
Los Cedros, Nicaragua. It's a baby orphanage and a boy's ranch. Our team is under a structure with a roof much like what one would imagine when they picture a hut in some remote village. It's late at night and it's worship time.
Quick side note: If you know me at all there is a good chance you know about my fascination with stars. If not, now you do. This fascination is not the type that prompts me to take astronomy classes and learn all I can about the galaxy. Rather, it is the breed of fascination which leaves me breathless and wanting to remain entirely oblivious to any scientific details or fancy explanations of the inner mechanisms of sky. Because stars are better when they are not explained. When it is all you can do to stare dumbfounded into the heavens and think about what an incredible God we serve. But then, I could write a whole other blog post on stars. So back to the story.
Usually, stars and thunderstorms do not go hand in hand. But this night, we got both. Clouds for the thunder and lightening with spaces for the stars to shine through. This was the setting when someone on our team instructed us to walk away and sing the next song by ourselves. We ended up singing more than one song spread out like that, but I will never forget Awesome God.
That song just builds and builds and builds on itself. It's simplicity makes it all the more powerful. And as our team sang that song out toward the rain and stars, they grew louder and louder. My favorite part? Here's the climax, you ready? The thunder grew louder with every word.
I promise you, you cannot out sing God. I've tried. The louder I got the louder He was.
That thunderstorm was the perfect soundtrack. If you ever get the chance to sing in a thunderstorm, preferably in Nicaragua, don't pass it up.
Moral of the story? Thunderstorms remind me of Nicaragua and losing control and family and hammocks and hugs and rice and rain. Torrential, wonderful, exhilarating rain.
Everytime I hear thunder I'm reminded of how strong and powerful God is. I'm reminded of how little control I have. You know the funny part about that? It's ok. I don't need control. Because if I had control, I'd mess it up anyway. God's plan is better, I feel safer in thunderstorms. I feel safer when I don't have control.
So, as we graduate and move on to colleges and careers and maybe nine month mission trips, we can go on knowing that we have no control. And I think that is one of the most comforting pieces of advice to remember.
And I hope that a thunderstorm will always remind me of exactly that.
