first rain

For days, the air has been swollen, heavy, pregnant, ready to deliver a new season.  The winds have been blowing hard.  They do that sometimes when fronts of change approach.  Blow hard, swirl fierce, stir our dust up just a bit.  The ground thirsty in the waiting and me with it.

I have been watching the sky, ready to leap to attention to shut windows and move furniture to protect it from the weather that sometimes visits inside my house as it is passing by.

Then today I hear the rain, the first drops of change pounding my tin roof like a hundred little drummers.  An army marching refreshing overhead.  I forget to close windows.  I leave furniture in place.  I run out the door leaving it flapping in the wind.

I run into the middle of compound right out into the open, in the middle of children scurrying with piles, protecting laundry from the onslaught of elements.  They scurry, I soak: let the cold wet drops wash over me.

“Mama, you will get wet.”

Yes, that is exactly why I am standing spinning in the middle of it all like a five year old in a ballet dress.  I WANT to be wet, to be washed, refreshed and when the rains come in even greater earnest, I will splash and stand again under the wonder of it all. Large drops fall hard from the sky and I walk slow drinking it all in.  This gift of rain.

Now the planting can begin.  Soon life and growth will unfold their miracles before our eyes and the land will tell its story again and again of death giving way to life.  It all starts with the rain, with the coming of the wet that the earth may be ready for seed.

What dry patch of ground do you need His rains to soak slow and deep and bring forth new life?   What part of your dust is being stirred by winds of change?  What is your earth thirsty to receive? Slower days are for many things.  Seeing, spinning in rain, soaking Him in the thousand ways He comes and whispers: I AM.

I am grateful for all that and I am grateful for you reading this.  Thank you for the gift of your time, of your interest, of you.

From an unpaved road in Sudan, always remember: