“The rain falls on the just and on the unjust.” Matthew 5:45
THWAP …. THWAP …. THWAP
With a slow, mesmerizing regularity the wipers swept across that large windshield of the #7 bus. The conversation around me seemed muted. We passed a playground and a toddler sitting on his mother’s lap leaned toward it and cried out. “Not today,” said his mother; “you haven’t been a good boy!” Besides … it’s raining.
Spring rains resurrect the earth smells, that warm fragrance of dirt being liberated from ice. In the early morning there are the puddles that have frozen over, just waiting for some child to come along and step on it, splintering it slowly … CRACK …. CRACK …. CRACK … or doing away with it in one quick STOMP.
There is the memory of yellow slickers and the pull-over-your-shoes boots with buckles that snapped. There is the recollection of walking to school, stopping along the way to watch the worms squirm there way up having been rudely awakened. How did they survive the winter, I wondered. No outdoor recess today. And learning was interrupted all day long by looking out the window – watching the drops on the window cascading first slowly, then like a tsunami free falling down the pane.
With an occasional punctuation of thunder far off in the distance – “God bowling” we used to say – there is something primordial about rain. It is both ominous and life-giving. It cancels little league games and it makes rivulets to play with. It hides the sun even as it soothes the soul.
Grace and the promise of forgiveness and the Easter hope of new life – it washes over us … over all of us.
Let it rain. Let it rain. Open the floodgates of heaven.
A blessed Tuesday.