Something is going around.  And it’s gradually hitting everyone in our home.  So, I’ve had sick people for two weeks.  And I’m fighting it myself.  No wonder why it has taken me days to finish one post.  Finally, it’s done …

Within the first few days after I arrived in Texas, we had a couple of Spring storms.

One of which started at night.

I woke up and heard the thunder and rain and thought, I wonder if the windows are closed on the Suburban.

Now, I could throw some shoes on, maybe a jacket, and go check.

Or …

I could wake Texas Guy up.

He was exhausted from the three days of driving, followed by a day of unloading everything I own, and then going right back to work.

What to do.  What to do.

I woke him up.

He says, “Yeah, Babe. They’re all closed.”  Then he pats me reassuringly and adds, “Go back to sleep.”

Wouldn’t you love to know what he was thinking?

The next morning, I went out to the driveway to find the Suburban, passenger side windows open, the interior soaked.

Darn it.

Thank goodness I had stolen my parents’ carpet cleaner.  It sucked the water right out.

Anyway …

I immediately fell more in love with the area with those first few storms.

And it seems just another reason why they call this God’s Country.

It’s been a year and Spring is here again.

So are the storms.

And my love for the Texas Hill Country is renewed.

During the Springtime, the temperature is milder than in Summer and I can keep the doors and windows open.  Well before a storm arrives I feel the temperature of the breeze drifting through the house start to cool.  I go to the front of the house and look out the windows.  We have such an amazing view.  I can see for miles.

A glance around reveals the storm approaching.  Dark clouds fill the sky in the distance and they’re headed our way.  Sometimes you can see the rain falling from the clouds that are still so far off.  I always find it incredible, the way it looks, like the clouds are melting down to the earth.  Then the distant rumble of thunder sounds.  Over and over.  As the clouds move closer.  And the storm begins to encroach on our town.

At the sound of thunder, I’m filled with excitement and anticipation.  I’m not sure why.  There’s just something so awesome about it.  The way it starts in the distance, knowing it will grow into something larger as it gets closer.  I remember feeling this way when I was a child.  I would let my younger sister climb into bed with me so she wouldn’t be so scared, and quietly, I was just loving that sound.

Then the wind begins to pick up.  I hear it blowing the branches of the trees.  It pulls the screen door open just a little and then lets it slam closed.  Again and again, the screen door slams.

The thunder gets louder.  I can hear, and even envision what I cannot really see, the thunder rolling over the hills and valleys on its approach.  It’s louder now.  And more awesome.  Something bigger than I am.  Reminding me what a small part of this world I am.

The storm is closer now.  And the thunder is loud enough to rattle the glass in the wood-framed windows of this old house.  And each time, the thunder concludes with a heart stopping clap.  The sky goes dark and lightning flashes, so bright and dangerous, in the sky.

And then the rain begins.

As it hits the metal roof, the leaves that have gathered since the last storm start to tumble off.  Flipping and turning, I can see them falling in front of my windows.  And the rain follows.  First it gathers in the valleys (for lack of the proper term) wherever the angles of the roof meet.  It trickles off, then becomes more steady,

and then the rain just pours down.

It reminds me of when we were children and we would use the hose on a hot summer day.  I can just imagine a hose on top of my roof.  Then the rain picks up and it’s falling off every part of the roof.

This area is in the middle of a terrible drought and so the rain seems even more glorious.  Prayers answered.  Time to rejoice!

There is a dirt road of sorts that parallels the highway we live on.  And when it rains, that road quickly turns into a river.  Well, maybe just a stream.  But, each time I watch it transform, I’m reminded that we really should invest in a boat.  Or, at the very least, I should pump up the inflatable boat.  And by “I”, I clearly mean Texas guy.

And then … the storms moves on.  I can see it as it travels to the next town.

The sun shines bright again.