Rain Rain

~

Yesterday, it rained on my family. Seriously, the bad news just poured down on us. I don't know how my husband and I were able to remain standing to handle the onslaught. I don't know where we found the strength to carry on - make dinner, play with our kids, bathe them, put them to bed. I don't know why we didn't just lay down and give up. God knows, I wanted too. I can't speak for my husband, but I wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and hide for the rest of the year. Maybe for two years. By the time we had talked through the situation three ways from Sunday and climbed into bed, it was just shy of midnight. I woke up to a cloudy and miserable day. I wish I could say that I sprang out of bed with a new day, new outlook and all that garbage. Nope. I saw the clouds and thought it was very fitting for my miserable and self pitying mood.

Today, it actually rained on me. For some odd reason, there was a thunderstorm in Southern California this morning. It let loose lightening that reminded me of Zeus' Lightening Bolt, thunder as loud a fire bombs, and rain. Not just a few sprinkles... no, it poured. And I'm terrified of thunder and lightening, but I was home alone with my kids - I have to put on a brave face. So we stood on the stoop and watched the rain come pelting down. My son was in my arms and my daughter by my side. And I thought it was fitting, this rain coming down on a day when I was in a miserable mood. It's as if God is crying for me, I thought.

And out of nowhere, I heard another voice. Dance, it said.

Why on earth would I go dance in this rain, when I'm terrified of thunder and lightening?

Dance, I heard again, insistently.

I'm not going to lie; my faith has severely been tested in the past four months. I've struggled to hold onto it. I've prayed more, meditated more, listened more. But still, in my mind, there has always been that doubtful question: Why would God want you to suffer this way?

Dance, I heard again, insistently.

So I gave myself over to the voice in my head. I decided that it was God talking to me and not schizophrenia.

I danced.

I took my daughter by the hand and led her and my son out into the yard in the rain. We stood right in the middle of a mud puddle. My daughter ran away - she hates getting her hair wet. But my son took my hands and twirled with me. And as we spun, I laughed. After all, it was ridiculous - we were wet and dirty, but I felt warm and clean and whole.

My son leaned over and gave me a kiss, then clapped his hands and looked up. Following his lead, I looked up to the heavens too. I was overcome with so many different feelings, but the most important one was relief. We're going to be okay, I thought.

I can wash you clean, the voice replied. Trust me.

"Thank you," I said to God.