This Rain Was Made for Me
I watched a tree be ripped apart today. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t keep myself from watching. My heart ached and seemed to groan within me as that little tree was torn limb by limb. Each blow sent piercing stabs down my own spine. And the grief as I watched that tree finally be entirely uprooted and cast aside carelessly overwhelmed me.
Hours later, under the weight of a descending migraine the image and memory of that tree being torn apart limb by limb returned and overwhelmed me with grief. I climbed in the shower desperate for relief, as if I was that very tree.
I felt the storm of life swirl all around me. I heard the wind whisper fear and threats of pain in my ear. The voices howled and winds blew. I felt the rain then, splattering fiercely, insultingly, down on my skin — each drop a painful reminder of the storm. My lips parted, my eyes closed, and my chin tipped heavenward. Tears joined the splatter and a plea escaped my lips, “God, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I prayed for.”
And then through the wind and the rain, God whispered back. “It is though child,” He said. “You wanted to be stronger, so I sent the winds. You wanted to grow taller and see clearer, so I sent the rain. You wanted to breathe easier and feel lighter, so I began to prune you. Don’t fight it my child. Just embrace it and trust me.”
Then I felt the rain on my face anew, this time each drop no longer stung my skin. This time I felt each bead full of love and nourishment and I knew this rain was made for me.
