Have you ever smelled the rain? Or the wet, warm concrete during a storm?

Have you ever lifted your face to the sky and watched the light-show of lightning and heard the roll of thunder? As the clouds darken and swirl, creating a black masterpiece?

I’m in my room. It’s evening, around 8:00. As I sit at my desk, writing something, I hear something. I pause. Could it—no, it rarely thunders here in Washington. But then it does it again. And then I hear the fast-paced pattering of rain on the roof. I leap up from my seat. Thunder. Rain. Lightning. I run to the hallway and stick my head out the open window. I smell it. The warm, wet concrete. The rain. It smells like home, like the south. Just the scent sends floods of memories, playing in the rain as a little girl.

I’m fifteen, sticking my head out the window to watch the rain, and I’m bawling. Crying my eyes out. Why? It’s just a thunderstorm. But I haven’t heard or seen a thunderstorm in over a year. It used to be such a common thing, but now, ever since we moved to WA, I rarely ever see or hear them.

I run downstairs into our sunroom. It’s all windows, and I sit in our green chair beside the window. I open my phone to take a video so I can rewatch this moment, as I probably won’t have a moment like this for a long while.

Just then, a loud BOOM shakes the house. My gaze jumps up to the window and I stare up at the sky. Wow. For a second—no, a millisecond—there’s a lightning bolt. Not just the light. An actual a lightning bolt. The whole bolt. It’s incredible. Right in front of my face, straight across the sky in front of me. Like it’s trying to get my attention. It’s a work of art. I hurriedly tap my phone screen to record this.

But as I’m staring at my phone, tears streaking my cheeks and my nose running, there’s another loud boom of thunder. I look up again from the screen to see another lightning bolt. Again, it’s a complete, striking shape of a bolt. The jagged tips streaking the entire sky.

Yet again, I try to take a video. But then, as I’m listening to the rain, I realize: God’s trying to get my attention.

The lightning bolts and thunder as I first pulled out my phone.

The first lightning bolt straight in front of me.

The full lightning bolts, not just the light or flash.

He’s trying to get my attention. Telling me, “Willow. Listen to me. I’m here. It’s okay. It will be alright in time.”

He sure had my attention. I put my phone down, and I enjoyed it 10 times more than I probably would have recording it behind my screen.

I’m crying full on now, all the while silently praying that my twelve year-old brother doesn’t come down for a book or water or something random. I whisper, “God. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Over and over again, thanking Him for this gift.

I watch the storm for a couple hours. I sit in our green chair, just watching, content, awed, full, and oddly homesick in a way that made me happy. I would never forget this night. Throughout the night, there are large bolts streaking across the sky. Eventually, the rain starts to slow down and the thunder starts to quiet.

I see my brother in the kitchen and I pray—no, beg— “God, don’t let him come see me please, I need to be alone.” My brother doesn’t see me. Then, I realize, the storm is slowing down. But I don’t wanna leave. I want to see another bolt. I pray again. “God. Before I got to bed, please, let me see one more bolt before 9:25. Only three minutes.” I waited. No bolt. And waited. No bolt. And waited. Still no lightning bolt.

Finally, I look at my watch. It’s 9:25. Disappointed, I stand up, lingering, not ready to go. But then—a lightning bolt. It’s beautiful, and makes even more tears fall down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I whisper.

As I make my way up the stairs to my room, I reflect on what God had told me just in that single thunderstorm.

1. All it took to make my day was a thunderstorm. It hadn’t been a great day, but when that storm happened—my heart was happy. It made my day, but it also made my year. And the best part is—God knew that. He knew what I needed, and He gave it to me.
2. God sent me a lightning bolt right on time. He wasn’t late, wasn’t early.
3. And I knew that God was saying, “Willow, you got this. This thunderstorm is beautiful, and it’s messy, but it’s perfect. My plan for you is messy, but it’s perfect. Everything is coming on time, don’t worry.”