Mom Woke Me Up

The first time I ever beheld forked lightning was in my mom’s arms as we looked out our dining room windows. She had woken me up from my four-year-old slumber to watch the lights show because she was not going to have me grow up afraid of thunder.

As we stood looking out – well, she was standing, I was sitting comfortably on her hip – a branch of spectacular light shot across the little German town near Dad’s Air Force Bases and spread its fingers through a boiling cloud as easily as a hand into whipped foam. I was astounded, having only seen such a thing in pictures.

Mom’s propensity for waking us in the name of experiencing spectacular phenomenon has gone on to this day. With one eye on the weather, Mom would make plans to witness God’s wonders as a family, wrapping up in blankets on a cold August night to watch meteors, or turning out all the lights and stepping out on the porch to identify the constellations on a clear night. Though tired and sometimes irritable, we rarely complained, but put on a happy face, intent on enjoying whatever she had in store for us.

It was always worthwhile. Lawn chairs were a favorite practice. These we’d set up in the driveway in a neat row while the dogs looked on from their little houses in mellow confusion and we’d pull up the hoods on our sweaters and blankets tight about our shoulder and wait. If it was a meteor shower, then we’d eventually start pointing out each sighting, our necks craning this way and that as we strove to see what another already had – too late. Then a duo would streak south and the lucky viewer would calmly point out the place where they had just gone and maybe someone else would agree, having caught the same pair in time. An hour or two would be spent thus, until none had spotted a falling star in some time, then we’d all give a mild cheer, as though for fireworks, a happy cheer as well as a thankful one, as though congratulating the speeding comets on a flight well carried out and thanking them for the privilege of playing witness.

Or if it was constellations, we might bring out paper or a book with us to hold in one hand while the other gripped at the blankets, and we’d search the sky, imagining that we were sailors, or ancient architects, or traveling Wisemen seeking guidance. At last we would have counted all the most recognizable signs available that season and we would congratulate one another before offering up a laudatory prayer to God, thanking him for granting us the privilege of seeing such great things.