. . .this morning is saturated with moisture like thick grey soup–a good day to be inside, dry, not stirring the heavy wetness.
“Into every life some rain must fall.”
I remember hearing a preacher say that, oh, so long ago when I was a teenager. I have no remembrance of anything else said that Sunday morning; certainly an impressive spiritual truth was revealed. I do remember that my heart was pierced with expectant pain—oh no, what storm will come? When?
I had always loved rain. Storms with loud claps of thunder and downpours sent me scurrying for safe haven, snuggling with a book. Content in childish dreams, I listened to sheets of rain pelt the metal roof of my grandfather’s hay barn. Rain was that sweet relief on hot, humid days, settling the dust–gifting us with playtime in puddles. How could it be something to fear?
I quickly made the transition from wet dripping rain to an ominous fear of life happenings. Those words lingered long, causing worry as I expected and waited for the rains of discipline, heartache and sadness—even necessary rain dropped for growth. I must have heard only the negative side of “rain” that summer cloudless day.
Seasons of rain and sunshine brought balance on my journey, and I began to weather the rains of life as I had the rains in the dust without fear. I was not strong enough to ask for rains that would spur growth or cause discipline, but at least I learned to survive the storms.
The rains fell . . .
It wasn’t long after those fearful words found entrance into my heart, I discovered it is possible to stay above water. You can ride out a storm. My parents divorced that year causing torrents of sadness and heartache . A few years later, Tom and I lost our second child at infancy, a small son with thick black hair just like his father’s. . . I plodded through more puddles.
Yesterday I addressed six notes, writing to friends in the middle of drenching storms. Six– bombarded with a deluge of pain, living in a flood zone of tears. If I shared their storms, you, too, would sob–but you, too, could tell me stories of those you know who are drowning.
How does one find shelter in the rains? Is it possible to stay dry?
Yesterday morning as I walked in the rain, a soft drizzle in the darkness, I heard a rooster’s crow blend with doves’ melancholy morning calls; other birds soon joined in the unrehearsed pre-dawn chorus. As morning came to light, their music erupted in a peak of praise. And I thought, “they praise the Lord even when it rains.”
We can not stop the rains on the earth–wherein would we be nourished and flourished? We could never live a rain-free life.
Nor can we escape the storms. Yes, into every life some rain will fall, often with stormy circumstances.
But oh, the joy of being sheltered under the umbrella of a God who cares, who loves with an unfailing love—even while allowing the rains to come.
“Does the rain have a father?” the Lord asked of Job. (38:28)
And yes, it does.