Jesus was bowling tonight

I'm not afraid of storms. I never have been. The real ones or the metaphorical ones, I suppose. My dad taught me to face them head on. That neither one should be feared. That we should pull up a chair and thank God for them. 

When I was little and a storm was brewing outside on the farm, my dad would put the kitchen chair by our windows that overlooked the lake and I would sit on his lap. Every time it thundered, we would say, "Thank you, Jesus." 

We embraced the storm. 

And we were thankful. 

And we would talk about Jesus bowling with grandpa Jalmer. And grandpa helping God move His furniture around. Those were the only logical reasons for all that noise. 

Tonight there was one large boom of thunder and I could't help but think of dad and how maybe God let him sound the gong on that one so I'd know he's up there. So I'd know he sees us. So I'd know he is proud of who I am now and know he sees his grandson growing. 

I miss you. I love you, dad. 

Thank You, Jesus.