I have always enjoyed rain. I like everything from drizzle to thunder storms. I find rain comforting. In 1964 Hurricane Dora went through Jacksonville with 110 mph winds; I spent as much time as I could on our enclosed front porch/Florida room where I had a 270 degree view. The rains blew horizontal and the huge pine trees in our yard swayed like saplings. I watched as one reached the point of no return and gently laid itself down.
Perhaps my love of rain began when as a toddler my mother gathered Shirley and me close during thunderstorms like a hen protecting her chicks. Add to that those glorious afternoon summer showers when she would let us run and play in the refreshing drops from heaven. I suspect I have prayed for rain more than a sub-Saharan witch doctor. Only a thunderstorm could ensure a lengthy respite from a scorching day in the fields. There is no way to describe the shear delight of sitting under the tin roof of my grand-parents front porch, sharing in happy conversation as sheets of rain fall, thunder claps, and the cool wind blows.
Rain is the nectar of the heavens. It is God’s method of distribution for life’s most essential nutrient. Lifted, shaped, and dispersed by the spirit brooding over the earth, rain is always accompanied by the life-sustaining Spirit of God. And like the Spirit it is a force not only to renew but also to destroy. The Spirit that creates judges; the rains that renew and cleanse devour. Yet, judgment is always toward redemption. Rain is always a promise of hope.
May 1, 2010