A little less than ten years ago, we had quite a thunderstorm head toward our house, coming from the southwest. It was a thunder-bumper of magnificent proportions. It was the kind of thing the Midwest would not need to be ashamed of. Our family started out sitting on the front porch, watching it come our way, and as it approached things got more and more exciting. That part of the evening ended with me announcing that we needed to go inside before we were all killed.
But before we went in, something happened that makes this particular event a permanent fixture in my memory. Our house at that time was on three acres, a little north of town. The town proper was about a mile away. There would be a vivid bolt of lightning, followed by deafening thunder. Then, a second later, from the direction of town there would be a chorus of cheers. A lot of people had to have been out in the streets watching God’s fireworks, and showing their appreciation in the only appropriate way.