Sometimes the rain is like my fear, relentless, pursuing, a deluge that makes me worry about floods and cancelled plans. It reminds me that I'm not prepared, not ready, not in control. The insecurity, watered, grows and takes charge. The rain is like tears, and I'm torn by my own grief and that of others. How can I be happy without the light of the sunshine, when I am stuck, rooted, and flailing?
The rain falls on the just and the unjust, and there are times that I don't know which group I belong to. The answer is likely both. We are mixtures of saint and sinner, redeemed and fallen. We are, each day, choosing to live with grace or refuse it.
The rain hits the sidewalk in a soothing rhythm and gives it a sheen like shellac. There is so much beauty if you have the eyes to see it. And I'm trying to keep my eyes and heart open.
|art by Brady Call, 2012|