Lightning Strikes

Lightning Strikes

John Paul Derryberry

A storm rolled through our neighborhood Friday night. Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, and the tornado warning sounded. My little family played in the basement, waiting for the storm to pass, and then immediately went puddle hunting with our rain boots once it was safe. Nothing gets my girls going as much as my granting permission to jump in, run through, and splash through puddles after a storm. The giggles, shrieks of pure joy, and the unbridled energy they release over the 30-minute play session could power a small town if only we could harness it.

I went to our river room about 9:00 p.m. to let out the dog one last time, and the sky about 2 miles north of our house was a light show of lightning. The atmosphere changed colors every 30 seconds, and each change could have been a masterpiece of art. My wife joined me soon enough, and we debated grabbing our one daughter still clearly awake in her bed. The upside would be sharing a cute moment with her, the downside the extra 30 minutes it would take to get her settled back into bed after watching just a minute of the lightning light show.

I couldn't resist; it was too surreal of a moment to pass. I would have grabbed both my girls, but the little one was fast asleep. Will a storm pass through a couple of miles to the north of our house again? Yes. Will it be a little easier to get her back to bed when she is older? Yes. We should be asking ourselves if the two minutes of wonderment in my daughter's eyes is worth the extra 30 minutes of coaxing a happy child to sleep. The easy math in my head was yes. How often am I going to get the opportunity to share something like this with her?

Often we answer these moments with, there will be so many future moments to share. Yet, we don't realize that these moments are about as rare as the lightning strikes we stayed up late watching. Even if the moment was planted well within our mundane Friday night routine, we should treat it as a fantastic occurrence. Anytime something extraordinary happens, being prepared to capitalize on it is essential to a healthy, happy attitude toward life. If I meet an early demise for some unforeseen reason, my wife will always be able to tell my daughter, when it stormed your dad would get you out of bed to watch the lightning.

It's those types of stories that remind us how great life can be at any moment, how people love us, people who wanted us to have memorable moments. People who wanted us to see that, even on days that seem unassuming, great things, beautiful moments, and foundational memories can occur. Most importantly that, unlike the rarity of lightning strikes, the good parts of life happen a lot. We just have to be brave enough to open our eyes to them. Event if it means lying on your daughter's floor an extra half an hour while she asks every question she can think of about lightning!