Love this rain. How a raindrop settles on my face, then runs down, leaving way for the next inevitable drop. How it brings us closer, as we huddle for warmth in the library or around a cup of tea. How it makes the air feel alive and reborn. I love this rain.
Nobody stands still in the rain. Rain rushes us all from the shelter of one dry spot to the next. I found myself hurrying past the library with my hand above my head until a rebellious raindrop landed on my face. I had to stop. And look up. Rain is our common grace. It's easier to see grace with this image of rain. It falls from above and touches everything below. It is a gift.
I kept walking but with an uplifted head and entered class.
Two hours later, I forgot my moment of revelation when the pain set in. Rain makes my knees and hands feel a steel, sharp pain. I pulled my unwilling body across campus and hurried through the rain. Rain didn't feel beautiful or remind me of grace. Then I almost fell into a puddle that drenched my shoes and splattered my face. I had to laugh as I realized my stupidity, my sin. It began to rain harder. As it fell, the rain startled my soul into remembering God and His love. Maybe I wouldn't be so startled if there was no pain. Maybe it's not just the rain that startles my soul, but the pain as well. Maybe... no, not maybe, God ordained both. And I can rest in that.
"When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
And I realize just how beautiful You are and how great Your affections are for me.
Oh. How He loves us. Oh, how He loves us. How He loves us, oh."
(by Jeffrey McDaniel)
In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.