I could spell it.
    At the age of eight, I knew what it meant.
    It was about God and he was everywhere.
    Even in the sugar bowl.
    He talked in red. I saw his words
    in my father's Bible.

    the color of God's words,
    the Oklahoma clay,
    and on that spring afternoon,
    the sky
    electric with possibilities.
    The hairs on my arms
    danced in anticipation.
    The scent of storm brewing
    stirred something primal,
    not yet understood.

I sensed that I was not alone
    standing in that empty field.
    The sky rumbled and rolled,
    blue sparks streaked.
    It must be God, I thought.
    I reached up to him and
    a flash of lightning
    kissed the palm of my hand.
    The fire flowed through me
    and into the ground.
    I was awe-struck.
    It did not hurt -
    just felt kind of warm and friendly.
    He touched me
    and I knew there was a God.

I told my family.
    They kissed it off:
    "Another one of her rambling stories."
    I still tell it.
    They still don't believe it.

I don't believe in God anymore,
    but I do believe in lightning.

poem by Carrie Berry © 1995
lightning photo by Steve Albers © 1996 - used by gracious permission
don't miss the rest of his collection!