Tyson and I experienced our first Logan thunderstorm last night. We were in bed, avoiding the end of summer vacation, when we thought we saw lightning.
“Was that lightning?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
Then there was thunder.
“Was that thunder?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “Probably just the wind.”
Then there was lightning so bright that we could both see it through our eyelids. We turned to face the window and watched as the rain started coming down.
“Is it raining?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “That’s definitely rain.”
We watched the storm for some time. We counted mississippis, even though neither of us was sure about the amount of distance that a second actually covered. I thought a mississippi was a foot; he thought every seven mississippis was a mile. He was probably right.
Just when we thought that the storm was moving past us, there was a lightning bolt that looked like a big purple vein that flashed across the sky. In that moment, I felt so small. I pictured our little apartment as a ship at sea, being tossed by the waves in the storm.
I thought about the Savior and His disciples at sea. As the storm gets worse, Christ is asleep on the ship. His disciples are afraid, and they ask,
“Master, carest thou not that we perish?
And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.”
Eventually, the storm passed. This morning, you couldn’t even tell that there had been a storm the night before. But I knew.
I knew as I kissed my husband goodbye for his first day of school. I felt so small, alone in our apartment for maybe the third time since we’ve moved here. But I wasn’t afraid. My Savior speaks peace unto my heart like he speaks peace unto the sea.
And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.