Monday, May 18, 2009

sometimes it rains





The weekend was grey and rainy, giving it a lazy spring-time feel. It seemed to fit well with the heaviness I'd been feeling. I missed my dad's face on the day we celebrate his birth. On top of that was the weight of loved ones hurting, fragile health, relational dysfunction and just the messiness of life feeling like a weight around my neck. I was reminded by an older women that this is how God sanctifies us, through disruption and healing. It's just that the disruption feels so uncomfortable at the time, and it's hard not to want to skip the struggle and get to the peace. So I get on my knees and look to God and listen and wait.
I was happy to have a rainy weekend with my precious family. We decided to hike and bring umbrellas just in case. We were glad we did since almost as soon as we were out of the driveway, big drops rolled down the windshield. And rain it did, creating a different kind of wonderfully enchanting adventure. The kids tromped through the light spring rain and bursts of sunlight pierced the forest until we got to the little bridge near the waterfall where we've gone since we dated. Shoes and umbrellas where cast aside and they splashed and jumped till Naya's little lips where blue and shivery. There was the lush smell of newly watered earth and the trees shone in the strange stormy light. I felt my spirit lift as the rain washed down my cheeks. I'm thankful that mixed into the messy brokenness of life, God gives us beauty at it's purest, in a forest of rain, in the care-freeness of my children, in a hidden waterfall on a perfect afternoon, in my dad's love that I miss everyday, in knowing that there are little parts of him in me and in my kids, in moments that leave me wistful and happy at once.






1 comment:

anna j said...

Ah, Dearheart,
I do love how you write about being both "wistful and happy," as that resonates so soundly within my own soul of late: have you read my "as it was" story? If not, you should go to that archive, from May 2008, as I think you would appreciate the story . . .
Hoping to see you soon,
Anna