I’d always loved the sound of the rain, the liquid pellets recoiling off the ground, reminding me that sometimes God needs a good cry too. I’m not even sure I believe in God, but I remember my mom saying that to me once. She used to say that the claps of thunder were the sounds of God bowling. “He must have bowled a strike!” she’d say when the thunder was particularly loud. I’d been afraid of storms as a little girl, and while I’d be hard-pressed to imagine Him finding time for such a leisurely activity, the sentiment of the memory nearly brought a smile to my face. I missed my mom and almost
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