Rainy Days

          It’s mid-June and it seems the rain will never end.  This past Wednesday (6/15) was the worst.  I woke up to rain, my daughter and I went for a walk in the rain; all day long it alternated between brief, mocking sun breaks, and pouring down rain.  As the day progressed, my mood seemed to reflect the weather.  I could find nothing to be cheery about, and as a result, my daughter’s mood began to reflect my own.  I was whining in my heart, and she was whining openly and vocally about everything.  Not a winning combination. 

Somehow we made it through the morning, whined our way through lunch, and now were very ready for glorious nap time.  As I was pulling the shade in Ruthie’s room, I muttered out loud, “Will this rain ever stop?”  And then, out of the mouth of my sweet babe, I heard, “But, Mom, the rain makes everything grow!”  It does, indeed.  “You are so right,” I said.  “Thank you for reminding me.”  And for our naptime prayer, we thanked God for the rain that makes this part of the world so beautiful.

As I closed her door, I found myself with a new attitude and a determination to redeem our morning with a much better afternoon.  While Ruthie slept, I unloaded my overflowing basket of magazines, keeping the newest issues, and piling the rest in the middle of the living room floor.  I dug out Ruthie’s scissors, set them on the pile, then went about my chores as I waited for her to wake up.  As I cleaned and baked, I pictured in my mind all the beautiful things outside my front door that are only there because of the rain: green grass, a forest of trees, fields of daisies, my favorite wild irises.  So much lush beauty that only comes because God gives us rain. 

When Ruthie woke up, I showed her the pile of magazines and the scissors.  “We’re going to make a Rainy Day book,” I said.  Her eyes lit up as I explained that we could look through the magazines and cut out pictures of things that we are thankful for because of the rain: flowers, trees, fruits & vegetables, puddles, etc.  When we were finished, we could glue them onto colorful paper and make a book, then we’d always be reminded that God gives us rain to make everything grow, just like she said.  We spent the next hour, flipping through the pages of Better Homes & Gardens magazine, cutting out pictures of pretty flowers.  We never finished the book, because, as I recall, the sun came out that afternoon and we set aside our clippings to go play outside. 

Later, after Ruthie was tucked in bed for the night, I put all of our beautiful pictures of flowers and garden produce into a folder, ready to be pulled out on another rainy day.  As I did, the Lord whispered to my heart that it’s not just this world that grows more beautiful from the rain, but our hearts, too.  It’s the rainy days and storms in my life that provide opportunity for growth.   I can choose to complain and whine, or I can choose to let the Lord do some cutting and pasting and transform my heart into something beautiful, something reflective of the God that created it.  Whether Ruthie and I ever finish our Rainy Day book or not, it doesn’t matter.  But I hope I’ll always remember that it’s the rain that makes everything grow—whether it be carrots and flowers, or hearts and attitudes—the Lord sends the rain, and the rain is good.

Loved

            A few weeks ago, my husband and I curled up on the couch and enjoyed a romantic movie about a man and a woman whose love defeated all the odds.  It was a classic tale of boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, and boy-gets-girl-again, only the end twisted itself into a heartbreaking picture of dementia in which the boy has the girl, and yet has lost her at the same time.  But their love defeated even those odds. 

As the credits rolled, I said, somewhat jokingly, “Will you love me like that when I’m old and don’t know who you are anymore?” 

Dave “hmphed” and leaned forward to turn down the volume, resting his elbows on his knees.  As he turned his head to look at me, I saw a single tear rolling down his cheek.  My own tears quickly pooled at the sight of his emotion, and my mind began to whirl, trying to figure out what had moved him so deeply.  The movie was good, but not that good.  As I settled on a reason, I asked,

“Are you thinking about Grandpop?”  His grandfather had been overtaken by Alzheimer’s before passing away nearly ten years ago.

He smiled and said, “No,” as another tear slipped by.  Quickly wiping it away, he turned to me and said, “I just don’t ever want to live without you.”

My tears flowed freely now as we wrapped our arms around each other and sat there on the couch, listening to the quiet music from the movie.  Only my tears now were not from the sorrow of thinking Dave was experiencing emotional pain from a sad memory, but from the overwhelming realization of the depth of love my husband has for me.  Oftentimes, after watching a romantic movie, I find myself thinking, Does my husband love me like that?  I know deep down that real love seldom wears the sparkly bling that dons the heart of Hollywood, but a girl can dream, and a girl always wonders, Am I that desirable?  But now, sitting there on our faded old couch, in our little red barn in a green valley in Sandy, Oregon, I had my answer.  No bling, no glamour, no Hollywood drama.  Just the real thing, wrapped up in real emotion, and spilling over with joy.

For the last few weeks, that joy has continued.  Every time I think of that moment, a smile creeps across my face and I find myself wanting to run into the arms of my husband and just stay there forever.  There’s a lightness in my step and a fullness in my heart.  It’s not that I ever doubted he loved me, we tell each other often, but to have such an honest, unexpected, deep expression of his love is elating and filling and freeing.  It’s the stuff dreams are made of; it’s a fairytale come true.

It wasn’t until I was at Bible study, and we were reading Sally Lloyd-Jones’ telling of the story of Pentecost from The Jesus Storybook Bible, that God whispered truth into my heart and opened my eyes to another fairytale, just as real and just as true.  As she tells of the Holy Spirit coming upon the disciples, Lloyd-Jones writes:

“They had seen Jesus go away, but now he was closer than he had ever been—inside their hearts.  And this time nothing could ever separate them.  Jesus would always be there.  With them.  Loving them.  Whispering the promise that would get rid of the poison and the terrible lie and the sickness in their hearts.  God’s wonderful promise to them: ‘You are my child.  And I love you.’”

We also read John 15.  Verse 9 says, “As the Father loved Me, I also have loved you; abide in My love.”  Suddenly, it was as if Jesus was there, holding my hand in both of His, tears spilling down His cheeks saying, I didn’t want to ever have to live without you, so I died on the cross for you.  I defeated death itself so we could be together.  You are that desirable.  I love you; I will always love you.  Now live in My love; live free and live full.  I delight in you.  “These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11). 

There is no more an honest, deep expression of love than Jesus’ death on the cross.  The real thing, wrapped up in real emotion, and spilling over with joy.  To be filled up with this truth is elating and filling and freeing.  God loves me, fully, wholly, completely.  He delights in me, He desires me.  True story.