The booming crash and blinding flash made the ground tremble under our feet. And suddenly we were in motion, sprinting with all our might to escape the danger.
After the dreary drudgery of lingering lectures in the sweltering heat of the Drivers’ Ed. classroom, we were finally getting into the cars. The course was a patch of asphalt about half an acre square. White painted lines delineated driving lanes, intersections and parallel parking, marked by common traffic signs.
The cars, which included various features, were loaned to the drivers’ educational program by local dealerships. Some had air conditioning, plush interiors and great sound systems. At least one featured bare essentials (which meant vinyl seats and no air conditioning); but all the cars included the necessities to take a driver from place to place. If you were among the last two people from the class to arrive, then you drove with another student, changing drivers every few minutes. So, in the heat of summer, the nicer cars were highly prized. That’s why you arrived early if you could – to get the nicest cars, and drive by yourself.
And that’s exactly how it happened that my cousin and I, along with another student, were waiting for the first period class to finish. The other student was a girl of fifteen sporting long red hair, a faded yellow shirt, and blue jeans. Since we were at the front of the line, we would get the nicest cars. We stood on the edge of the asphalt, reminding the first period drivers that their time was about up. It looked as if one of the sudden rain showers that Pensacola is known for would be upon us at any moment. It would be a bit of a near thing, but if we held our place, we might get into our favorite cars before the downpour.
Nervously, I turned to watch one particular dark cloud moving our way slowly. It was much lower than the surrounding clouds and, on any other day, would cause us to take cover. But we were in the front of the line, sure that we could get into the comfort of the nicest vehicles before the storm hit.
My first indication of trouble was when I felt the hair on the back of my neck start to rise. 
This was followed immediately by a loud boom and blinding flash. Lightning had struck about fifty feet behind us, and the ground trembled under our feet as we sprinted toward the classroom building. To my surprise, my cousin, who outweighed me by more than seventy pounds, was keeping up with me! And when I glanced at the girl in the faded yellow shirt, I noticed that her red hair was spiking out in all directions in the electrical discharge.
Over the years, I have tried to make sense out of this episode by searching the Scriptures. First, I should admit to you that I am fascinated by storms. I have often said that if you grow up in Pensacola, Florida, you are hurricane buff whether you want to be one or not. With the frequent powerful storms in the late 1960’s and early 70’s, it seemed as if everyone had the hurricane bug. At the Moulton’s drug store near our home, we could get free hurricane maps, marked with lines for longitude and latitude. And as a hurricane approached, the local radio station would broadcast information about the exact position of the hurricane’s eye, as determined by the NOAA Hurricane Hunter aircraft crews. But Pensacola also experienced frequent thunderstorms with surprisingly strong lightning and earth-shaking claps of thunder. Yes, when I was a child, these frightened me but as I grew, I learned to marvel over the sheer unbridled power of an awe-inspiring thunderstorm. Undoubtedly, this was because I had come to know the Lord of the storms. You might be asking, “What does that mean?”
David, the psalmist, was apparently a storm spotter like me. He waxed poetic as he observed the massive display of power in the thunderstorms in Israel. And through the understanding given to him by the Holy Spirit, he learned to interpret the meaning of the storms. In the twenty-ninth psalm (which I like the call “The Thunderstorm Psalm”), David wrote,
Give unto the Lord, O you mighty ones, give unto the Lord glory and strength. Give unto the Lord the glory due to His name; Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness. The voice of the Lord is over the waters; The God of glory thunders; The Lord is over many waters. The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty. The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars, yes, the Lord splinters the cedars of Lebanon.[1]
Just reading this psalm brings back so many memories of the greenish yellow skies when strong thunderstorms approached in Pensacola. The radio would blare news about waterspouts and occasional tornados. In the aftermath of those storms, we could see where lightning had struck trees, and sometimes carved a scorched path through the grass. But I learned the meaning of the words: “The God of glory thunders:” His thunderous voice is heard throughout the world in brilliant displays designed to get the attention of every observer. As the old timers used to say, “A thunderstorm like that will put the fear of God in you!” And indeed it will.
As we ran from the Drivers’ Ed. course that day, we were frightened; we knew that the next lightning strike could be our last. As we dashed under the shelter of a breezeway, I suddenly realized that I had a pounding headache (that would last for many weeks). It was a close call. But I had learned a lesson about the danger of being selfish – to be the first in line – and the need to respect God’s power in the storm. That storm drove the lesson home.
copyright, Gordon A. Dickson, All rights reserved. This article is an excerpt from my forthcoming book, Driving Lessons Home: stories of faith, hope and humor.
[1] Psalm 29:1-5