It's raining today.
There's nothing I love quite as much as a rainy day. I haven't even gotten out of the bed, the dogs are snuggled quietly at my side, the lights are out, and I'm listening intently to the pitter-patter of the raindrops as they beat sweetly against my windows.
The only thing that could make this morning more enjoyable would be a rumble of thunder in the distance.
When I was a little girl, rain seemed to be a recurring theme in my naptime rituals.
My favorite naptime story that my mother would tell me was called "Moo-Moo the Mouse." Moo-Moo was a little boy playing outside in the brilliant summertime weather, when his mother called him in for lunch, which often consisted of a peanut butter sandwich cut in the shape of a butterfly. (I know, Moo-Moo wasn't too macho. The butterfly shape was for my enjoyment, I'm sure.) After lunch, Moo-Moo went down for a nap. And as he laid his furry head to rest, the rain began to fall.
Slowly and quietly at first.
Pitter...patter. Pitter...patter.
And then gaining with speed and intensity.
Pitter..patter..pitter..patter..pitter-patter, pitter-patter...
The sound effects my mom made here were my favorite part of the story. The rain continued, lightening toward the end of his nap, until it was time for him to get up and go play outside again.
Naptime also often brought the sweet lullaby of one of my favorite hymns, "There's Just Something About That Name." The lyrics are as follows:
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,
There's just something about that name.
Master, Savior, Jesus,
Like the fragrance after the rain.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,
Let all heaven and earth proclaim!
Kings and kingdoms will all pass away,
But there's just something about that name.
(William and Gloria Gaither, "There's Just Something About That Name")
I loved these rainy naptime rituals because the imagined rainfall proved comforting, in a way.
But outside of Moo-Moo's story and my favorite lullaby, rain was hardly something I truly enjoyed as a child.
It kept me from playing hide-and-seek. From swimming in the neighborhood pool. From swinging on the swing set.
It kept me cooped up inside, nose pressed against the window, wondering when the ugly gray clouds would give way to the warm sunshine.
And truth be told, I couldn't tell how the sweet name of Jesus could be compared to the "fragrance after the rain." Have you ever gone outside after a rain shower? It smells less than desirable. A little like the dogs after they've rolled around in the mud. Woof.
Even today, there are times when I resent the rain. It keeps me from tanning by the pool. Makes the drive to work messy. And dirties up my car.
But, sweet friends, where are we without rain?
The grass dies. The earth dries up. Crops can't grow. Having grown up in hot, humid Tennessee summers my entire life, I know that a drought turns things ugly.
And of course, when we spurn the spiritual rain that the Lord allows to water our souls, what happens?
We shrivel. We become ugly. We stop growing.
In May 2010, my hometown experienced a horrible flood. It destroyed houses. Trapped people. Drowned people on the interstate. Necessitated an insane amount of money for reconstructing businesses and homes.
Looking at it through our short-sighted human eyes, it ruined everything.
To raise money to help those who had lost everything, my church choir threw a benefit concert.
The title of the program came from one of the focus songs: "Bring the Rain."
When my dad (who is the minister of music at my church) first sent out the email to the choir about the "Bring the Rain" concept, he was met with avid responses, such as, "Oh, I wouldn't be asking Him for anymore rain. That's what got us into this mess in the first place!"
My dad, who is so wise (perhaps I'm biased? I think not.), replied gently for the choristers to truly look at the lyrics to the song. Here are the words to the chorus:
Bring me joy, bring me peace,
Bring the chance to be free,
Bring me anything that brings You glory.
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain,
But if that's what it takes to praise You,
Jesus, bring the rain.
(MercyMe, "Bring the Rain)
What a hard thing to pray. Not only to pray for God's will, but to truly welcome seemingly destructive storms and floods.
It's taken me a long time to get to a place where this seems doable. That doesn't mean it's become easy, by any means. But I finally have an acute understanding of what it means to invite hardship into my comfy life.
Yes, it may keep me from the "plans" I've so diligently made for myself. It may appear to ruin my dreams, the things I've built and the things on which I've wrongfully set my hopes.
But when you learn to relish the fragrance after the rain--not one of wet dog-- but that of an awakening of the earth and the scent of new growth, of hope and rebirth, boy, spending comfy time in the perpetual sunshine begins to seem less important.
The rain is beginning to settle outside, just as it is in this difficult chapter of my life. But oh, how thankful I am for the rain that He sent to revive my soul; that He's trying to grow me, not destroy me.
The sun will come out tomorrow (I know, I know, hokey, but couldn't resist), but you know what? I'm not afraid of the forecast, of the rain that I know will come again.
Please, friends. Try learning to embrace the rain for the growth it will bring. Learn to love it, to cherish it.
You won't regret it.
If that's what it takes to praise you, Jesus, bring the rain.
