Rain, Rain, Come My Way...

It is pouring down rain.  Thunder has been rumbling above the clouds.  Spencer, the 12-year old, is on a Boy Scout camping trip.  Just like last month.

Knowing the forecast, I asked him yesterday if he wanted to stay home this weekend since it was going to rain most of Saturday and Sunday.  He said, "No."

Today, my palm smacks my forehead.  What kind of foolish offer did I make him?  Why would I have tempted him with "indoors," "safe" and "dry" when he can spend two days in the middle of a storm?

I hope he is enthralled by the sounds and the difference in nature.  The way the birds quiet down in anticipation.  The way the gray skies press in toward ground.  The steady, powerful rumble of thunder.  The hammering percussion of the rain.  I hope he feels slightly unsafe.  Uncomfortable.  On edge.

I hope they batten down the hatches and huddle together to wait it out.  Or run through fields getting muddy knees and wet shoes.  I hope the fire is mostly smoke and dinner is difficult to prepare.  I hope sleep comes in long snatches between damp and cold. 

And I hope tomorrow he comes home safely with his own personal story of surviving this particular storm and coming out the other side...to warmth, comfort, safety and yes, XBox 360.

Storms are like that.  Big and blustery.  Ominous and forboding.  And always, eventually, over.