God do I love the rain

This enormous peal of thunder just ripped across the sky, and slthough there is a cheetah print scattering of polite rain drops coating my deck, I’m holding out for the big rains.

Yesterday before I walked to work, the sky opened over Anschutz library and tore random passersby a rainy new one. Drenched, some with smiles and some with frustrated faces came streaming into the building to seek refuge from the hard rains that were coming down outside. I heard the rain while I was microwaving my sandwich. As I walked outside to stand under the overlook of the stone walkway, I gave myself grief for not packing a rain jacket, because in some forty minutes, it would be my problem. Quickly calculating the chances of getting a ride from my mom (slim to nil), I looked at the sky, which was loosing color.  It was like the frustration drained out.

And then I remembered something that saved my walk. You see, the skys can only loose so much color in a rain that heavy before they let up, and it becomes pitter patter drops, then polite drops, then no drops at all. The misfortune of getting soaked by inclement weather only has so much stamina. And in the 10 minutes I spent standing there, I saw it let up. With 30 minutes before I had to be there, the only logical choice was to wander, looking for puddles to jump through quietly and watch the course of the little streams of water, as they delicately streamed into the gutter. There were white cherry blossom petals on the pavement, and some redbud flowers got caught in the stream. They windowed and pooled around soaken mulch flower beds. Handfuls of tiny white petals were strewn in front of the steps of the library, like a lover trying to break even.

And this is why I love the rain. It tells stories better than we do. It gives us time to reflect on things we’ve forgotten, things we’ve missed, and if we’re lucky,  see some of its benefits shoot up green in the morning. You can hear the thunder rain loud across the sky as I texttype this sentance. It wants to be heard. For changes to matter, sometimes you’ve got to get drenched.

When the sky is blurry with rain is a good time to feel grateful. The rain smells remains, and it looks less gray, fewer drops coming down. The skies lose their color, and eventually turn blue (because it’s Kansas). Without the rain, nothing would be nearly so green.  


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I am a second-grade teacher and pastor-to-be who loves people. I spend my weekends with friends or wandering the museums of DC alone and with a journal, trying to put words on the places of the soul that still feel wordless. I spent most of my days at school trying to learn patience through my students and running on sheer nerdy passion. I follow Jesus Christ, and savor that as my most important identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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