The thunder rolls, and my world seems calm. 

As I write this column, rumbles of thunder mixed with the pitter-patter of prominent raindrops rush through the trees outside my window. 

Thunderstorms always put me in such a tranquil mindset; while the world outside is being whipped and blown around, I am safe, watching the storm from the inside. 

It’s easy to get caught up in the tedious conditions of the storms—metaphorical or not—that surround you. Subject to getting blown over, finding cover where you are is your best bet. 

Like many nerve-wracking moments in life, the storm will soon pass. 

The bright flashes that illuminate the sky are like a firework show—a sign that tells you to buckle in; you’re about to be in for an unruly ride.  

The winds pick up, twirling the branches of frail tree limbs around in their evermoving grasp. The sky erupts with grandeur, sends bolts that touch the ground, and shakes the whole earth with its mighty heavenward hand. 

These malevolent motions are not for the faint of heart. 

The trees with the deepest and most headstrong roots will survive the storm and come out the other side more durable; they will stand higher than ever. 

I don’t know what I find so comforting and serene about the squalls that the weather begets every so often, but I do know that they never blow me over.

Storms, ornery as they are, mean well. 

The lightning that strikes the earth with electrical force breaks apart minuscule nitrogen molecules, all the while sending nutrients into the soil, renewing even the brownest blades of grass that desperately need a second chance at living. 

Not to mention, the violent drops hurling themselves toward the earth are the nourishment that nature needs to grow. 

The atmosphere, left clean and refreshed, is a breath of fresh air. All the heaviness and pesky dust particles have been cleared out, making way for a much lighter breeze. Sometimes all we need is a refreshing new day to help keep our head up above the clouds. 

What’s more, rosy reds and perfect purples painted in the aftermath of the rain clouds give glimpses of hope and a sign—at least in my mind—that everything will turn out okay.    

The storm leaves the earth better than it found it—even if it seemed unbearable at the moment. If the most dainty, sweet little flower can endure the sweeping storm, so can we.