It is in the eye of the beholder,

the beauty of a storm.

While some fear the eardrum-splitting thunder

or the blinding lighting that forks the sky,

my father frequently admires them,

mesmerized by the dancing skies.

I remember these times through the eyes of a child,

a little girl scared to dance in the rain

for fear of drowning

in this

great

big

terrifying world.

But when my hands were too full

of sorrows and woes

to hold anything more,

my father would hold my little hands

and just for a moment,

my burdens became his.

Because you see

my father didn’t fear

the tumultuous storms.

He had already survived

so much destruction.

He was constantly surrounded by brokenness.

A broken family,

A broken home,

A broken heart.

But just like my father sees

the beauty in the unrelenting storms,

he sees the beauty in life.

And in the brokenness around him,

he always picks up the pieces,

paints the cracks with gold,

and creates the world

as a colorful mosaic --

seeing the world through

his own kaleidoscope.

I think that is how my father is able to find

the silver lining

around the thunderclouds.

My father taught that little girl

to dance in the rain,

and to see the beauty

in her brokenness too.