Lightning Dancing

I was out late the other night (which, to me, is midnight. Other people don't consider that late, but I'm usually in bed by 11), and thank God I was. On my way home I saw a lightning storm in the distance, most likely a heat lightning storm. Hardly any echoes of thunder's familiar rumbling could be heard. Hardly any cars on the road in my small town to distract me from the show. Perhaps God sent the storm to keep me awake. Whatever the reason, I was audience to a peaceful display of lightning dancing through the night sky, zigging and zagging and twirling up and down, left and right to a musical rhythm.

Struck by the beautiful brilliance of it all, I thought of how lightning often spurs storytelling around a campfire or in the house as a family huddles together for comfort. I guess, in a way, lightning is the greatest storyteller. We often think of lightning as a scary form of danger. Personally getting hit by lightning is more frightening than hitting black ice in my car. Lightning can hit so fast and send so much electricity surging through you that, literally, you won't know what happened. But, all the same, I don't see lightning as scary. Thunder is what scares me. Thunder is Lightning's evil brother, trying to steal the show away from Lightning. I can't help but see something majestic in the way lightning streaks across the sky, visible from everywhere, in a dance of lines and curves seeking an outlet for all the latent energy, seeking expression to the magic desperate to burst out into the world. Is that not a great story? I think that's what inspires us to tell stories. In my family, at least, when there's a lightning storm we stop everything, watch the dance outside and express ourselves to one another in story form in creative ways that we would rarely indulge in otherwise. The dance of lightning outside inspired a dance within.

I continued thinking, and wishing that I had some way of capturing all the stories that the grand, dancing lightning has been witness to in all of history. Awed as I was by the magnificence of the lightning, I was floored when I thought of how honored I'd be if my loved ones and I could add, or were adding, our own chapter to the growing book of the great storyteller. All the magical creative love expressed and shared between the brothers and sisters that make up our family tree, all in the lightning's womb as it danced throughout history, and we can add the next chapter. To think that lightning still dances, perhaps asking for us to add our chapters to its story, is rather moving.

I immediately told my girlfriend that I wish she were there with me so that we could dance together under the greatest dance known to humankind. Obviously, I want to share every moment of worth to me with her, and I hope to share every moment of worth to her together, but in my dreams there was something indescribably tribal about dancing under the lightning, something ancient, something lost. I couldn't put my finger on it at the moment but I knew that if she and I added our quick steps to the fast pace of the lightning we would participate in an activity always intended for our fulfillment and great satisfaction.

I know that my girlfriend and I share a kindred soul. Yeah, we're both incredibly passionate, athletic, and far too good-looking for our own good, but that all doesn't matter. What matters is that we both dream dreams and are both actively creative because we see the joyful brilliance that surrounds us all and want to join in on God's play of C/creation. I have no doubt that God had fun when He created our home for us, and I have no doubt that He intended us to dance under The Dance with our own drums beating. Perhaps Thunder is not Lightning's evil brother but God's drum calling us to dance with Him and the whole host of heaven.

What are we missing when we hole ourselves up, bored, when lightning dances? What are we missing when we don't journey into the vibrant forests? What are we missing when we don't seek the splashing coolness of waterfalls? What are we missing when we don't travel by bike or horses or whatever else to feel the warm wind brush our cheeks? What are we missing when we don't breathe in as much of Creation as possible?

Many reading this might say, "But I go outside! I go to the beach! I promise!" Well and good, I'm glad you are spending as much time in the home God built for us rather than the homes we built for ourselves. Too many times, though, I have been frustrated and disappointed with people who tell me they love nature and love to be outside, by which they mean, "Yeah, when I exercise I do it outside," or, "I go to the beach about once a week (I like to keep a nice tan)," or, "Skiing is a lot of fun." Too often people only aspire to love being amongst Creation and so tell you that they do. Let's not bother trying to get people to like us more because we have "such" a diverse personality that we are "outdoorsy."

Instead, let us love God. Let us love all of what God has given us. Yes, thank God for comfortable homes and fast transportation, let us not miss the music. Let us dance and sing to the rhythm of lightning's dance, to God's Creation.