Lightning

The wind was blowing, the rain was pouring, and lightning cracked the sky.  That's when my 20-year-old daughter informed me she was taking my eight-year-old son to the library.

"Watch out for lightning," I said. 

She laughed. 

I was serious.

"How am I going to do that?" she said.

That's when I realized how ridiculous I am.  But "watching out for lightning" is exactly what I would have done if I'd taken my sweet boy out in weather like that.

How would I watch for lightning?

When I was somewhere between the ages of nine and twelve, my parents took us to Chicago.  I don't remember why we were there.  I do remember being outside of a big art museum. It was raining, lightning, and thundering.  We had to walk down the street to our car.  My dad told me and my siblings, "If you feel the hair on your head or on your arms rise, immediately lie down on the sidewalk."  I felt like I was practically crouch-walking all the way to the car.  Every second, I thought I might be feeling the hair on my arms rise.  I watched my dad closely to see if his hair was rising or if he was on his way down to the sidewalk.  I was prepared to dive down after him. 

Ever since then, whenever I'm outside during a big lightning storm, I think about that experience.  Isn't it ridiculous?  What are my chances of getting hit by lightning?  Is there a possibility that I could hit the ground on time to avoid a lightning strike if one was determined to come for me?  Perhaps if I was on top of a bald mountain it would make a difference, but in the middle of a big city?  I doubt it.

I have lived too much of my life as if I was metaphorically walking through a lightning storm.  There is much to fear in this world.  It's important to be appropriately cautious and prepared to take wise action.  At the same time, we can go too far.  I am tired of crouch-walking through life.