Thunder and lightning had always evoked a strong visceral fear in me. Not merely a child afraid of sudden bright flashes and booming rolls, but a child knowing, knowing, that each flash of light was a display of divine power - of cosmic wrath. Each boom of thunder - one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four, one thousand five... it's still a mile away - signaled that the terrifying power was coming closer, questing... And if my name was on the 'naughty list' the thunder would come close enough, that there would be no delay between brilliance and boom. It would be upon me - the wrath of God come to strike me down for being a sinner.

I slept in a second-story bedroom - closer to the sky, and closer to the display of divine rage. Besides, everyone knew that God lived in the sky, so the second story was closer, and he wouldn't have to throw his electric bolts as far. Ben Franklin had been brave - or a fool - flying a kite in a storm, but I was a coward. I went to church. I knew that we were all sinners. I knew that God hated sinners. He burnt down Sodom and Gomorrah. He killed thousands of Egyptians with terrible plagues. He drowned almost all the world. What's one child? God wouldn't even have to break a sweat.

I struggled to remember. Did I eat all the lima beans on my plate tonight? Did I finish all my homework? Was I nice to everyone at school, even the mean people who called me names? Did I share my toys with my brothers and sister? Did I write thank-you letters for the Christmas presents last year? Did I keep my eyes closed all through grace at dinner? Did I read my Bible last night? FLASH - one thousand one, one thousand two - BOOM.

They were getting closer. God must have been mad at me. Hastily, I got out of bed, where I had been cowering beneath the covers and knelt on the floor, wincing in pain as my knee landed on a jack. Dear God, please forgive my sins. I didn't clean up all my toys like mommy told me to. I hid some lima beans under the baked potato skin, and didn't eat them all like I was s'pposed to; I threw them in the trash. But they're yucky, God. Please forgive me for all my sins that I don't remember, and even ones that I didn't know I was sinning. I'm a bad girl, God, but please don't kill me. Mommy and Daddy fight a lot already, but they'd fight more if I died. In Jesus' name. Amen.

Before I could get back in bed, there was a blinding blast of brilliance. There was no time to even start counting; the angry roar filled the room, the very house shook, knocking down the few toys that were picked up and on the shelves: stuffed animals, books, a few dolls, a Lego spaceship. God was mad at me. He had struck me down, and made my room messier because my prayer wasn't sincere, because it was in fear of my life, and I might not have prayed if I wasn't scared to die. He knew.

But there was no judgment room, no throne of pearls, no angels with flaming swords, and no lake of fire. Maybe I hadn't died. Cautiously, I got back to both feet, brushing the embedded jack from my knee, and looked out the bedroom window, pushing the curtains to one side. There, in the back yard, just outside my window, the old pear tree blazed. It had been struck, not me. God gave me a warning.

As the rains came down, fit to put Noah's flood to shame, I started picking up my toys.