Monday, March 26, 2012


     I love rain.  I love the sound of it on windows, a skylight or on a tin roof.  I love the smell of it at the beach or in the desert.  I love how it makes the world look washed clean...

     I also love the spiritual significance it has for me when I have been looking for answers.

     There was a time when I was living in the Antelope Valley in California.  A place north of Los Angeles, southwest of Barstow, where the rains hit on the far side of the San Bernardino and Tehachapi mountains and seldom in the valley.  Where the wind could blow with the strength of a hurricane, dust storms could seem like tornadoes, and tumbleweeds could pile up higher than your house in an afternoon.

     It was a brown place.  A dry place.  A place where this mermaid soul from Florida could feel lost and alone.

     One afternoon I was on the way home from work and dreading going home to my abusive husband.  I had called before I left to let him know I was on the way, and I could tell by the tone of his voice and the one syllable conversation we had that he was angry about something.  It was not going to be a good night for me.

     As always, I talked to God on the way home, pouring out my fears to Him about what would greet me when I got home, and asking Him to please go before me and protect me.

     Suddenly, I could smell rain.  Strong, crisp, and damp sage in the air as it was after a heavy thunderstorm that came to wash the dust off of everything.  I slowed to a stop for a railroad crossing and tried to look out the windows of the car to see where the rain was falling... but could see nothing.
I love rain...

     As I twisted and turned in the car to find where the source of the rain smell was coming from, I heard it begin to hit the windshield and roof of the car, as if the sky had just opened up.  Instinctively I flipped on the windshield wipers without even looking, but when I did turn to look... the windshield was dry.  The hood of the car was dry.  The road was dry.

     I pulled over and got out of the car.  The sky was clear, the ground dry, the smell of rain now fading.  The wipers began to squeak as they went back and forth on the dry glass and I reached in to turn them off.

     I looked to see if the invisible rain had left a visible rainbow, but it hadn't.  I smiled at how relaxed the sound and smell had made me feel, and thanked God for the break.

     When I got home, my husband was angry... but I... was blissfully aware that God was with me and let him stew in his temper alone.  That was the year I finally got the courage to leave him.

     I love rain...

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