Pause for a Thunderstorm

As I've looked over my postings for the last few days, I've realized that there is an intensity about them that requires a little break -- both for me and you, my dear readers. So here it is . . . with of course a connection to grace and identity at the end, because I wouldn't be me without that!

Early in our marriage, we took an intensive Russian course in South Carolina. I loved my time there, being in the classroom and spending time with others who were suffering through the beginning stages of Russian learning along with me. But my favorite part of the day were the afternoon thunderstorms. I have never since seen so much lightening or heard such loud thunder. We would often sit outside our dorm room and just marvel at the rain and noise.

Yesterday Rachel came home from school with a book of poetry proudly in her hands. I immediately looked for her poem and am now sharing it with you:

BOOM!
A thunderstorm is coming
I'm scared
It's just a storm
We're fine
I'm still scared
Come here
Ok BANG! Flash! Oh no!
It's just rain
See, we're fine
Jack is not scared
Or the cats
I'm still a little scared
Watch some TV
IT WON'T TURN ON
The powers out
Come color with me
Ok. Flash!
Look, a rainbow
It's over
I'm not scared anymore

I'm still marveling at the insight my daughter has. I'm not sure that she even knows what she has written, or the gift she has given her mother in this piece of writing . What do I love about this?

• She has the freedom to say she's scared, even when others might make fun of her
  
• She looks for ways to distract herself, but none of them work -- except being with others
• She is scared at one of those "just a" things . . . don't we all have them? Things we are afraid of, but think we shouldn't be? Something that will be over with soon?
  
• She remains scared, even when others around her tell her that no one else is . . . and she admits it!
  

As I reflect more about this little bit of third grade writing, I am amazed and humbled by her honesty. It is the kind of honesty that I want to have in my own life. Sometimes, when I am afraid, the cliches don't make me feel better -- but in order to make other people feel better, I pretend they do. But not my Rachel. She hasn't learned to do this yet. I pray she never will. I pray that she will be able to walk in the freedom of her true self, and her true identity in Christ. I pray that she will not feel like she has to go into hiding with her family and friends.

I know that God has put these children into my life, another set of miracles, to help me mature. Thanks Papa!