Singing in the Rain

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July 21, 2009

Singing in the Rain

Rain again, second day in a row. A whole afternoon of it, delicious wet plops, more even than the dry, baked earth can soak up. There is plenty, a veritable feast of water, leaving big clear puddles in the yard. An oasis in the desert, and life answers the call. The grass is standing eagerly, a happy chorus of frogs chirp outside my window, birds and squirrels come out of their hiding places, our pet rabbit races around the yard, kicking up his heels... Rain, sweet rain! The sigh of relief is nearly audible, as thirsty plants, and parched animals, and desperate farmers, and dusty children, all lift their faces as the rain comes.

Something settles down in me. Something is right again, that was wrong. Some primitive need to know the rain is there, though we live a life of pipes and wells and water towers. Fill us up, lavishly fall in giant plops upon our head, baptize away the heat of the summer-- for there is no pool or tub or faucet that can rival God's own rain. It is tinged with the taste of Heaven.