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Generally there is “sunshine in my soul today,” but sometimes that tune gets replaced by Bad Moon Rising and a few bolts from above. Unfortunately when a routine of goodness gets interrupted by a moment of badness, it just feels apocalyptic.

I recognized that early in life when I stayed at Grandpa’s. After breakfast the cousins would whoop and holler through the fields. It was a time of halcyon days and turtle lines and tree climbing. Yet when the sun disappeared, the chirping of katydids and crickets evolved into the roar of lions and tigers and bears.

Once darkness settled around the farm and smothered the landscape, my heart heard eerie cries cut through the murk. It was as if God suddenly crushed a black crayon over the landscape and blotted out everything except the howls of the night.

Inside the safety of that small home the faint light of a lamp or small TV flickered through the windows and guided us back from the outhouse if nature called. Sometimes the frame of the privy was barely visible, but necessity inspired courage.

When all the light was gone, the unexpected robbed me of my boyhood of dignity. The sounds of nocturnal phantoms amplified my uneasiness. Closed windows and locked doors offered little insurance. Grandpa’s guns might have eased the tension if he had acknowledged the peril, but he did not. He always slept while I closed one eye and inwardly repeated the “now I lay me down” chant.

Eventually I would roll to edge of the twin bed and reach as far under as I could. If I strained hard enough, my fingers would catch the edge of the cardboard boxes that held hundreds of comic books. No monster dared hide where heroes gathered.

The Disney and Looney Tunes editions were set aside. Archie lacked a cape, and Mr. Wilson would have been less help than Dennis the Menace and his slingshot. Admittedly L’il Abner was dropped to the floor as well but not until I had checked out a few Daisy Mae graphics.

Thankfully Batman and Robin rose to the occasion and to the top of the pile, and the Flash and Thor were within reach. Usually sleep was upon me before a dozen stories were read.

Nowadays my comics are buried in the basement and not available to ward off anxiety attacks. The boogeyman and apparitions of yesteryear have been replaced with old man worries. Yet the current angst - real or imagined - also haunts me and holds an eyelid open late into the night.

When needed, I don’t hesitate to repeat the “now I lay me down to sleep,” but I do not search beneath a mattress for instant valor. Marvel and DC no longer offer a warm cup of bravado, and Daisy Mae is more arm candy than I can carry.

Apprehension can keep anyone awake. In a favorite story, a young girl calls out to her mother during a violent storm. The mother points out that the child is not alone, that God is always with her. The young child responds, “I know, but sometimes I need a little skin in the room.”

Both perspectives have merit, but the daughter’s view reminds me of the people who have been in my room when I needed someone. Even though they are powerless to defend the universe, these individuals have always been ready to support me. The strength to deal with today and tomorrow often comes from this small but mighty group.

A parent, for example, was always there for me. I wish everyone could say that. Mom nursed and cooked and cleaned. She listened. Did she sleep with one eye open? Maybe, but I rarely saw her rest. Dad wore a constant smile, but his hands were never empty. He held wrenches and hoes and whatever tools the next job required. Yet he was always willing to drop any of them to help his family. Both carried the burdens that needed carried and walked tall.

My parents and siblings. My wife and family. My friends. They all live(d) the everyday way. Each and every day they bring what they can when someone needs them. This group rarely invests in a single moment. For them giving and caring is a routine, a series of actions. They can’t fix everything, but they wield hope and love and a potent presence against the crisis at hand and against the one that follows. That’s what the everyday way is all about.

These days when cataclysmic upheavals - whether mole hills or mountains - rob me of sleep, I try to do some rememberin’ about family and friends. The company and the lessons they have shared let me close both eyes for a while. The spirit of fellowship is almost as good as having a little skin in the room.

When lightning strikes, who’s there for you? Who are you thankful for?