Life has a way of providing sudden challenges that produce unexpected outcomes.  A few years ago, I lived n Maine on top of a fairly large hill in a small house with an acre of land.  I was surrounded on my side of the road by 400 acres of pasture and woods.  At that time, I often took care of a friend’s children, they called me “their second mother”.

In the summer I practically moved out of the house into a large 10X12’ high ceiling tent in the backyard.  I loved sleeping outside surrounded by the cool air, sweet scents, and solid support of the earth.  When the children would come for a week or so, we all loved sleeping “out” in the tent.

One week, another friend asked me if I might take care of her children, and when I went to pick them up, another child was included too.  I didn’t have the heart to tell Julie no.  So I had 5 girls from ages 7-10 years old to care for at once.  Fortunately I had been a camp counselor the summer before I went to college. We all slept out in the tent adding to their adventure away from home.

It was late and dark when we were all settled in, toasty warm in sleeping bags.  The girls were giggling from some old prank or joke when off in the distance we heard the first clap of thunder.  I said, “OK, a storm may be coming, do you want to go back in to the house?”  “Oh no!” they chorused. “If you stay, we are going to stay for the night, are you sure?”  I asked. “We can stay out, we are not scared.”  As the storm seemed far away, we returned to telling stories.

The thunder grew louder and louder. Deep underneath the hill ran an underground river. In addition to hearing the thunder roar in the sky, an echo sound and sometimes seeming quake could be felt underneath us.  Rain began suddenly to pummel all around.  The girls squealed and wanted to go back into the house.  Having camped through many thunderstorms in my day, I told them no. Their fear filled the tent.

I invited them to listen to another story, about a goddess called Pamola. Pamola was fierce and strong. Pamola who loved to live on the tallest mountain in Maine, was the goddess of thunder. I elaborated, and the children were quiet and enthralled.  Then the next time I mentioned Pamola with my arms outstretched, a clap of thunder and a flash of lightening hit and the light seemed to pour out through my fingers.  We all screamed, then, a moment later, we were laughing hard.  In a few moments the girls were sound asleep, while I wondered whether it was me or the ground that still trembled.

The story doesn’t end here. When Pamela was older, she wrote me, re-telling the story, and concluded, “When I was young you always made me feel safe and strong”.  We never know how much we mean to our children.