rain

It rained today, and not the drizzle, drip, drip, drop kind of rain that I have become accustomed to in California. It was the kind of rain that had weather forecasters and traffic commentators shaking in their boots. One reporter quipped, "It's a wet one out there. You should probably stay in if you can." I gave a double blink and extra ha ha at that one. I mean, let's not forget that it is still 64 degrees outside.

Being the rebel that I am, I found a few hooded sweatshirts for me and the girls and headed right outside to stomp in all the puddles. I even convinced the girls to ditch the hoods and soak up as many rain drops as possible. You should've seen us tromping around in the Costco parking lot. While everyone else sprinted to their cars, we took our time hopping from puddle to puddle and laughing with our tongues sticking out. Genevieve is now a rain lover too.

I love the rain, which is funny because I don't really enjoy being in water (i.e. the pool or shower) for more than a few minutes. I fell in love with the rain in Argentina. It never stopped pouring there. Of course there plenty of sunny days, but boy it seemed like every 3-4 days or so God would fill the sky with fireworks and a rock concert, and then he would let the water fall for hours. I rarely ran for cover, and I stopped using an umbrella after a week of two broken umbrellas. I just walked and let the water fill my Danskos to the brim. Every few blocks, my mission companion and I would stop and pour out the water. It is one of my favorite memories.

Ever since Argentina, rain has morphed into a much larger metaphorical meaning in my life. In Peoria, it seemed like the rain would never stop, literally and figuratively. We lived in this crappy little box someone deemed a house, and all day I would sit and listen to the wind howl and the rain beat on the walls. I really thought my house would take flight at any given moment. It rained so much that we were asked to pray the rain would ease up a bit so the crops had a chance to grow. The crops were drowning. I was drowning with them. I spent some of my darkest nights crying silent tears into my pillow. I plead for the rain to cease and let me breathe. It did, but not immediately.

Since living in California, we have had maybe eight rainy days. Having a lack of rain has been so strange to me. When we first moved here, I'd see the gray sky and get the girls prepared for a day spent indoors. After a few false alarms, I quickly learned gray skies do not always produce rain. I still remember the first time it actually rained. We were leaving Costco and heard the faint sound of rain dancing on the concrete. It lasted five minutes. It was depressing. Draughts are depressing. Not unlike the weather, my life felt like it was in a draught for several months. There was nothing necessarily bad happening, but nothing really good happening either. I was stagnant. I craved rain. I craved a challenge.

Too much rain is just as suffocating as too little rain. I'm still analyzing the parallels of rain in my life and would love to hear your thoughts. Are you drowning in rain? Or are you hallucinating because you lack it?

All I know...and this is something I really know...you should probably write this down somewhere...Without rain, there is no growth.