Between Bruises and Blooms

We came home with tired feet, sleepy eyes, and two little girls finally dreaming.

The stroller sat by the door.

The house grew quiet.

For the first time all night, so did I.

Then,

as if the sky had been waiting for us,

the rain began.

Soft at first.

A whisper against the windows.

Then louder.

Heavier.

Until thunder rolled across the prairie and lightning split the darkness into pieces of white.

I stood there, listening.

Grateful.

Not because the storm had passed,

but because we had.

Love doesn’t always outrun the weather.

Sometimes,

it simply gets home a few moments before the sky breaks open.