Real Heat

No devotional today. And no, this is not my opinion on gun control. These July days remind me of my growing up years in Arkansas. Hot, wet, pray-for-rain-to-cool-things-off days. As a quick aside, I have to be honest and give my Arkansas cousins their due. They're enduring heat right now that puts ours in South Carolina in the shade. (I know. It's my mother in me. ) I'm talking about heat that rises on squiggly lines off the road in front of you, leaving a water oasis that disappears as you near.

I remember sleeping on an old iron bed in the front room at my grandma's house when I was growing up. Big attic fan roaring. A slight breeze from the open window would blow the curtains inward. Life was safer then and we had nothing to fear.

Here in South Carolina, our blinds stay closed on days like this, leaving a dark house that reminds me of the big old southern houses in the movies that were always dark in the heat of the day. Old bloodhounds or coonhounds passed out from the heat on the front porch. Tall glasses filled with ice and something exotic to drink topped with a mint leaf or two.

Late afternoon the clouds seem thicker and we go out into the yard and stare up. Are they getting darker or is that just wishful thinking? Sometimes the storms start with no warning, simply huge raindrops that appear. Usually though, it's the wind that we hear first. I run for my rocker on the back porch and settle in - excitement comes easily in South Carolina.

Our porch is screened across the back and the left sides which leaves easy access for the wind to moan through. The wind chimes hide in the corner; so even a hard wind brings only a low tone or two. A post shows me how quickly the clouds are racing. I watch the darkest part of the sky for the lightening.

Flashes satisfy me but I get up and pace for streaks. My mother willed me an interesting attitude about lightening. She loved the stuff. Before I was born, my dad would take her to our little hometown airport that had a hill and they would sit and watch lightening storms. On the other hand she raised me with respect and fear - the whole package - stay away from the windows, don't use the phone, don't take a shower. Basically what she left me was a desire to experience something that I awe and respect. (Yes, I'm resisting the urge to turn this into a devotional after all. But isn't that the way faith is?)

So I pace and rock and watch the show for as long as I can stand it, until the fear kicks in and I race for the inside. By this point the rain is usually coming in sheets and the porch is half-wet anyway.

Once the storm blows over, we head out in the golf cart to enjoy the cleanness of it all, until the heat and humidity take over and start the whole process again. I love South Carolina.