Bubbles and Thunderstorms

Life can get so monotonous.  I get stuck in a routine that's comfortable, day in and day out.  I monitor the kids, play with them, feed them, clean up after them, clean up after my husband and myself.  I pull the children out of mischief and I feel like I'm spinning, spinning, spinning my wheels.  Yesterday I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes.  Today I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes.  Always I have to know where the children are because in the middle of my routine, daily, without fail, something is going to happen to switch it up a little.

Today I felt a storm brewing.  I cleaned, did the laundry, cooked, and washed the dishes, and the kids were stir crazy.  They didn't want to play with their toys; they didn't want to go outside; they didn't want to go to the park; they didn't want to clean their rooms - that was no surprise; they didn't want to watch a video.  So they started jumping on the couch and pulling the cushions off.  I felt something brewing and  knew that if I wasn't careful, it was going to be a full-fledged thunderstorm.

I remembered some bubbles I had purchased from the end of the summer clearance aisle at Wal Mart and set about finding them.  The kids were esthatic!  They started jumping, swatting at bubbles, and blowing them at each other.  They spilled a container and Nyssa vigorously cleaned it up and begged for more.  There we played, in the family room, with the bubbles, wildly and abandoned, for well over an hour.  When all the bubbles had been popped, and every last drop of the solution had been used, a stillness came.  Everyone was blushed with the excitement, yet calm and content.  Then the kids went off their merry little way, enjoying the rest of the day. 


I know I've mentioned this before, but I find such exhilaration in a thunderstorm, especially when it comes in the middle of the day.  The skies are all blue, the sun is shining, though you may see a few clouds.  Then, the wind begins to pick up.  The scent of the air begins to change, too.

I don't know how many people can sense it.  Sometimes I get strange glances from others when I say, "Does it smell like rain to you?" and they shake their head no, raise the eyebrows, and almost physically back away slowly, as if they're expecting to see men in little white coats come toward me.  But if anyone has experienced it, I know they understand, because there comes a knowing look in their eye as they take in a deep breath and nod their head.  The very air, that which brings the essence of life, oxygen, shifts, and I feel it to my very core.  The gasses becomes purer, somehow, sweeter. 

It's strange, because it's not like I thought it smelled bad before, but when rain is coming, I suddenly realize there's a cleansing coming, a refreshing, a renewal, and it excites me.  It's hope.  That's what comes first for me, the sweet sensation of clean air. 

Then the wind picks up just a little, gathering strength, pulling in the clouds.  And with their entrance, the sky darkens and the sun hides from view.  At that point, the wind seems to have become fearless, driving leaves from the trees, and tossing the branches to and fro.  It blows a cool breeze that penetrate my skin, reaching my bones.

The lightning bolts and the thunder claps, driving me to an ethereal delight.  Over and over again and the windows of heaven are opened.  I feel the first drop and with it, a tingling sensation as the floodgates open and tell me the skies will not be denied their power.  The earth, too, seems to dance with joy, receiving the the much needed drenching and soaking in all it can before the water is washed away. 

Then all is gone but the beating of the raindrops on the trees, the grass, the ground, touching whatever it can reach, quenching the thirst of all of creation in its wake in the rain's desire to cleanse and to make all things new so that the circle of life can go on, not begrudgingly, but revitalized in the heartbeat of its mission.

And finally, there is silence. 

I hate to miss a thunderstorm.  I often stop what I am doing when one comes up.  I choose to embrace it, to experience as much of it as I can.  I love to go outside and let the rain wash over my face, with my arms extended, letting the drops penetrate my pores.  I love every aspect of it.  And when it is over, I am changed...I don't know how and I don't know how to explain it, but I am content, and I feel it. 

It's that blessed stillness.  Then the pulse begins again slowly, steadily, as the clouds disappear as quickly as they came.  The skies clear and the sun shines on the new earth.  The aroma of purity lingers in my nostrils as I cast my eyes on all that is around me, then close them slowly, and just breathe.

Earlier this afternoon, as I lingered alone in the stillness of the aftermath of the bubbles, I realized the day could have been different if I had made one very big mistake.  I realized that if I had ignored their frustrations and allowed their boredom to reign, then we would have all gotten restless and ill-tempered.  I chose instead to embrace their tension, to give them an outlet in which they could explode and expend their energy.  And that had made all the difference, just one little choice to get out the bubbles. 

I've got a little secret to tell you.  The kids weren't the only ones who enjoyed the bubbles.  I rejoiced in their excitement and delighted in their faces as they danced around them, much as I like to do in the middle of a storm.  When they were spent, and went upstairs to play, I just sat there, seeing the change.  Then I smiled.  I closed my eyes and breathed.