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.—Matthew Kelty, Flute Solo:Reflections of a Trappist Hermit
In the early morning hours while the house still sleeps…the sky opens. I hear the steady beating of a million glossy beads falling on the roof and I smile in my half-sleep. It is our secret love language and each drop—a kiss falling from heaven. I drift and dream of bluebirds perching on the fence–those shy, welcome visitors.
When the time for waking comes, each blade of grass reflects a blue sky on its tip–our early-morning tryst only a memory. The robins scurry to-and-fro—splashing in the rain-soaked earth. I drive Jeffrey to the high school on diamond encrusted streets. It’s step-up day and this morning he and the other eighth-graders will visit the freshman classrooms they will populate next year.
“I’m nervous,” he tells me, as we troll down the rain-washed valley road.
“What we need is a theme song,” I say. And I put in one of the cds he and his brother gave me for Mother’s Day and cue up number seven. We sing the song loud together and he makes dance moves with his arms. We pray on the way down the hill like we always do and he hops out in front of the school with a spring in his step. I watch as another boy hurries up beside him and they walk into that big building together.
“Take care of him today, Lord,” I whisper as I pull back out onto the wet street.
It’s been a busy few days, with lots of meetings and gatherings and end-of-school hoopla and I am tired. I haven’t had the time to pause and look around. But now? I do. Suddenly, the quiet surrounding me speaks beauty and possibility and I feel the reassuring hand of love.
The air settles in misty ribbons, weaving a white cloak over the hills that surround my valley—soft like the breath of God. And the streets glisten, winking in the early morning light.
The Playdates button: