Rain: Kansas

Sometimes it rains. But not all rain is the same. Sometimes dark monstrous storms gather around and the outcome seems bleak. The rain is hard and cold. It stings and bites.The lightning is jagged and lights the sky with a cruel glow. Other times a drizzle so fine it almost seems like a mist envelopes spreading a quiet melancholy until the sun banishes it with brilliant rays. My favorite rain is Kansas rain. Bright gray thunderclouds swoop in and unleash buckets of happy drops that dance in the streets, and when that happens I only have one option. I have to dance with them. The slow rumbling thunder is our music. The dance steps are light. Bare feet perform each step elated to be free. We leap about in the roads that are now rivers. I see the bright red cardinal who lives across the street and I hear him calling to me. We are old friends. He wakes me up each morning with his care-free warbling and I answer his call with a whistle of my own. Now in the rain he is a brilliant speck of red against the dove gray clouds. We whistle and dance together. Five minutes later the rain has stopped. The sun is back, and I am wet. But, I am happy.
I wonder if life is a lot like the different storms. Sometimes we are pelted with cold icy trials that gnaw at our defenses until we are left huddled and shivering. Other times they weigh upon us like the mist. It seems infinite and we can't see if the end is near let alone the end of our own noses. I figure that the way we view our storms depends on our attitude. I forget that sometimes and my trials seem pretty big and menacing or endless and gray. Tonight, however, I was able to sit down with a couple of my best friends who reminded me that my storms don't have to be that way. The Lord has a perfect plan. I know this. I testified of it for two years. I just forgot. I stopped to evaluate just how grande this storm really is and because the Lord is part of that perspective this time the clouds aren't so black. In fact, I can see the purple painted in. The grays are warmer. The drops aren't so cold and they even have an awkward little shuffle going on. I can't see my friend, the cardinal, but I can hear his song. It's not the happiest storm, but I think I can do that awkward shuffle the raindrops are teaching me and maybe tomorrow I will dance.