Resurrecting rain delivers cleansing peace

It’s raining.

A symphony can be heard as the droplets dance off our roof and onto the sidewalk so fast it sounds like a drum roll – nature’s drum roll.

It’s soothing. Cleansing. A peace offering.

Some rains – when taken hostage by wind and lightning and thunder – can deliver a chill. And to be honest, fear.

But rains like this one – it’s Thursday evening, just in case you’re persnickety about the who, what, when where, and why of a story – are painted with promise. Life-affirming promise.

As a boy I’d sometimes sit in such rains. I’d close my eyes and see great and wonderful things.

I’d feel the soft rain soaking my hair and clothes. I’d hear and feel the raindrops falling, and bouncing, and then falling again.

And I’d sometimes see a bearded prophet preaching from the side of a mountain. In the rain.

My mom would laugh, and my dad would just shake his head, at the sight of son number three sitting in the rain. It had to funny, I’m sure.

But I’d sit there, usually just on the front steps, and I’d feel the rain, and I’d think back to that week’s Sunday School lesson. Then and there, I’d know beyond a shadow of doubt that all was right in the world.

At least in my world.

It’s a funny thing about coming in out of the rain – we tend to forget what it offers. Growth, spiritual and otherwise.

And now, here I am, a silly old man who can’t quite remember the last he felt such a resurrecting rain.

Well, tonight I pulled up a chair on our sun porch, and listened to the rain. No, I didn’t go out and sit on the front steps like I did a lifetime ago, but I opened the door to greet what was falling from above. And, with great pleasure and my chin turned upwards, I could feel a mist coming through the screen door.

The fellowship was immediate.

Bills? Still gotta’ be paid.

Mortgage? Still there.

Garbage? Still has to be taken out and placed at the edge of the curb before morning.

Night medicines? Still have to take my pills.

But for just a few minutes tonight, I heard the promise, again.

It was a peace offering.

The only thing that made all that better was when I gave up my seat to my wife, and looked on as she sat back, and listened to the rain.

And she closed her eyes.

David L. Barber is the retired editor of the Manistee News Advocate. He will be contributing columns weekly for the News Advocate. You can contact him at dlbarber1006@gmail.com.

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Posted by David L. Barber

David L. Barber is the retired editor of the Manistee News Advocate. He contributes columns weekly for the News Advocate. You can contact him at dlbarber1006@gmail.com.

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