…Water is always an invitation to immersion [for me], an immersion with a quality of totality, since it would accept all of me, as I am. Some primal urge invites me to return whence I came.”
At times I have done so. There is some special delight in simply walking into a stream, stepping into a lake. The child’s delight in a puddle is my adult’s in the sea…No rain falls that I do not at once hear in the sound of the falling water an invitation to come to the wedding. It is rare that I do not answer. A walk in an evening rain in any setting is to walk in the midst of God’s loving attention to his earth, and, like a baptism, is no simple washing, but a communication of life. When you hurry in out of the rain, I hurry out into it, for it is a sign that all is well, that God loves, that good is to follow. If suffering a doubt, I find myself looking to rain as a good omen. And in rain, I always hear singing, wordless chant rising and falling.
When rain turns to ice and snow I declare a holiday. I could as easily resist as stay at a desk with a parade going by in the street below. I cannot hide the delight that then possesses my heart. Only God could have surprised rain with such a change of dress as ice and snow…
Most people love rain, water. Snow charms all young hearts. Only when you get older and bones begin to feel dampness, when snow becomes a traffic problem and a burden in the driveway, when wet means dirt—then the poetry takes flight and God’s love play is not noted.
But I am still a child and have no desire to take on the ways of death. I shall continue to heed water’s invitation, the call of the rain. We are in love and lovers are a little mad.” —Matthew Kelty, Flute Solo, Reflections of a Trappist Hermit
I awaken this morning once again to soft patter of rainfall on the roof. It has been raining here for several days. The moisture in the air creates a white cloak over the mountains–misty air like the breath of God…
I arise and move to window. Stare out at the glistening streets, lights reflected in the glassy surfaces of this place where I live.
It stirs me.
His breath touches me in this moisture settling on my skin.
This gentle thrumming rain soothes…gives comfort in this bleak winter day.
I move to this rhythm. Hear the “singing” in her voice. Folding laundry, cleaning our space; pausing frequently to gaze out at life falling from sky.
The “change of dress” occurs mid-day as temperatures drop throughout. My eyes feast on falling snow.
Ah, sweet baptism.
Lucy Mae and I step out, let these bits of His love shower over.
And I feel like dancing…spinning…twirling in this joy falling down.
All of nature moves in step with the beat that He measures. His hand keeps perfect time.
—then the poetry takes flight and God’s love play is not noted.
Let me see it, Father. Let me see your love play in all things.