the rains

a stream of consciousness take on the duality of the christian life

This past Sunday morning we pulled back the curtains and were astonished to find it was raining. No thunder and lightning, no hail, just a very steady, persistent rain.

Sam asked if we could open the window and he climbed up in the chair and watched big, splashy droplets hit our kale plants and slide down the leaves of hostas. I stepped onto the front porch and breathed as deeply as I could. The rain had mingled with the heat which resulted in the most delicious humidity. The heat had abated just enough to not be oppressive and the spongey air settled on my skin in a soft, sweet film.

Later, we sat in church and my friend who had been away most of the summer cozied up to me. “It’s cold in here!” she said, shivering. She had on shorts and chill bumps rose on her legs. We both giggled as she did her best trying to stay warm in our air conditioned building. Outside, drops ran down the windows where inside stood tall, drippy candles.

The rain in the midst of forest fire season is a miracle. It rained again the follow morning on Monday as I readied Sam for his first day of summer day camp. It had stopped by the time we arrived at his destination, and by the time I picked him up at one, there were no signs it had ever rained, other than the perky luminescence of the plants around the day camp.

It’s an obvious metaphor. Cliché even.
Rain as a blessing, rain as a curse. Rain quenching a thirsty and barren land. Farmers praying for rain for their crops. But also, rain being prayed away in the midst of hurricane season with flooding that devastates homes and land. Rain is everywhere in literature. Rain—the symbol of a good harvest, a blessing from the gods, while flooding is a curse from yet another set of lesser, jealous gods.

Hosea states that God will come to us like rain (vs. 6:3), one that will quench and give life. In the movies, rain, a shower, or an immersive swim is often a sign of baptism. The character, once drenched, emerges with new perspective, a new person, ready with clearer eyes for whatever comes next.

And the rain falls on us all.
This week, it was a blessing. I put my dry heels in the puddles forming in the dips of the sidewalk and pointed my face to the sky. My zinnias and cucumber vines bounced and swayed. It was glorious. Like learning to breathe again.

But, in another part of life, I have also sat in a dark closet in the interior of my home listening for winds to abate and the rain to calm, and they didn’t. I remember clutching my cell phone, my mom on the other line telling me I should get in my car and hurry over to her house, but I could already hear it. The sound of a train was coming down my street.

Mom, it’s too late. I can hear it coming. I have to stay here.

And I did.
My phone cut out and I lost communication. The tornado ripped down the road and I heard pieces of my neighbors barn hit my roof. I clutched my little dog. Tornado season was nothing new to me, but it was frightening every time it happened. I prayed with a resolute heart, “God, turn this tornado around” and mere seconds after I muttered those words, the intensity that had come barreling down our street went from an angry roar to a grumble. Half and hour later I opened the door of my closet and stepped outside. A massive pine laid across the street, blocking traffic. I would find out the next morning that my neighbor just a few acres away had lost the roof of their home and their barn was nothing more than a pile of matchsticks, crumbled in a heap in the field.

In other places in life, I have asked for God to turn the tornado, and He did not. The figurative walls of my home were blown away and then the rains came. I would stand in the middle of the waters, with more mess rising around my ankles. And my prayer was always the same.

Make it stop, God. Just make it stop.

No.

Maybe God was saying other things to me in those moments, but when the rains were beating down, all I could hear was the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

Make it stop.
Make it stop.
Make it stop.

Somewhere else, someone was also being rained on.
This rain was a shower of blessings. A healthy baby after an uncomplicated pregnancy and birth. The opportunity to step into the job they’ve always wanted—to boldly pursue a dream. Seeing a loved one healed of an impossible sickness.

Rain falls on us all. But the type of rain? There’s the rub.

Yesterday the sun was shining and we had a quiet morning. I could feel the breath in my lungs and my heart rate was steady. I worked out, I sweat and stretched and came back into my body. I showered and the water fell on my thankful shoulders as I washed away the sweat. Later that day, I picked flowers from seeds we had sown. Sam pulled out his train tracks and played with them independently. David grilled chicken. Nothing was extraordinary, but it was the steady, blessed rain of the mundane.

But somewhere else, there was heartache. The rain looked different because it fell too hard and the winds were too strong. Calling for help in a tornado is pointless, but you call anyway, hoping your voice carries on the wind. Hoping your prayer turns the storm away from your home. But sometimes it doesn’t.

…

One night before bed, Sam looked at me and out of the blue (as curious children are want to do), asked why Jesus died on the cross.

Why.
He had to ask why.
Where, when, or how would have been so much easier and I was not ready to get into theology with my four year old at 8:30pm, but I did my best.

Sweet son, God sent a human to live and love like us, who wasn’t at all like us, but was like us, to stand in the gap for us. Sam, Jesus came and died and came back and ascended and lives. He still lives. And mama cries out to him in the shower after days that feel like a tornado has ripped through our home. Mama has cursed at Him and asked if He was listening and wondered if He was just something we made up to make ourselves feel better.

But check the facts. He’s history. He’s mythology. He’s theology. He’s reality. All of these things can be true. He is the rain and the storm and the rainbow after. We fear Him and we love Him because he IS love. And He loves us for reasons I will never truly understand.

He is real. And He would have to love us in order to do what He did. I mean, you’ve met mama, you know how hard I am to love sometimes (I’m sorry). Why else would he do it? He has to be real. He has to be.

He also sends rainbows

Obviously I didn’t say this to my four year old. But someday I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him about dancing in summer rain showers and hunkering down in closets from tornadoes. Someday I’ll tell him that it rains blessings and curses and God is the same in every weather. He walks on water, He calms storms, He parts seas. He saw Jonah, Peter, Moses as they looked at water and said “impossible” and God said “try me.” He showers us with blessings and He allows our lives to flood.

I trust Him, doubt Him, and ask Him for blessings.
And He sends rain. Always, He sends rain.

Rain gives, rain takes, blessed be the falling of rain.

Always,
Emily

P.S. On another look at this topic, read this glorious lament written by John Blase and then subscribe to his Substack and read everything else this man has to say.