Rain fell softly on a cloudy day in May. The sweet coolness waltzed in through the open windows into the room, creating a delightful little reverie that invited my senses to dance. Candlelight flickered on the mantel and Perry Como's timeless voice filled the air.
My love for the rain is great, but my fondness of rain and open windows is greater. It makes me feel free and wild, while it calms my heart and gently washes over my soul.
“You know what is great about our front porch?” I said to my husband, sitting in the next chair.
“Everything,” he answered without hesitation.
“Well, yes, but because it's there, we can keep the windows open during the rain and that is marvelous and beautiful.”
Just another piece of evidence.
Life has been intense lately with so much uncertainty about income and jobs and such things of adulthood. But there has been great evidence with every step of the faithfulness and goodness of the one who knows and I'm choosing to rest in that place. Collecting all the pieces along the way that will give us strength and carry us. Refusing to let go of the one certainty that will always remain. That He is.
Yesterday, I was sketching on the back porch, my hands were blackened with charcoal and my kids covered in paint. I opened to a page dated two months ago and it read,
“Only upon hearing the last note can we realize the beauty of the melody that has been created.”
This journey has been amazing, full of adventure and wonder and risk. And in the middle or near the end, or wherever we might be, there is challenge and struggle and the growth that forever changes main characters. But, like a good book or a beautiful song, redemption comes. Unless this is a Shakespearean tragedy, in which we all die, or The Great Gatsby, where nothing of consequence ever happens to boring, lazy, apathetic people, or anything written by Hemingway, where everything is meaningless and depressing, of course.
I've had a hard time writing lately, despite the fact that everyday I've been pouring words into my journal and morning pages as earnestly as I can. The words have been jumbled madness and I had determined they we never worth making known. However, no good story ever consisted of, “Everything is perfect and easy. The end.” Not one.
And I think that at some point, I let the exhaustion quiet my voice, rather than letting this part of the story be heard. Rather than letting simple words bring peace in the way the writing process does, I gave them permission to roar and howl about in my head, because I thought they were safer there. Clearly, that’s where they were the most dangerous, like shadows cast on a wall in the dark, when in reality, it’s a stuffed toy on a shelf.
So, today, I'm just going to write about the rain falling and the way the air carried a song and cool breeze, on a Tuesday afternoon.
And that's all.