This morning it poured. I opened the window in my kitchen and listened while I made scrambled eggs, toast, and a pretty incredible smoothy. Fall. Rain hitting floppy leaves that are soon to fall themselves. There is no better serenade on a lazy Sunday. The rain makes me happy and sad. I think that is why I love it the way I do. It captures in its moments how most of life feels. Both and. Muddied and clean. Old and dank and new and fresh. Here and gone. Dim and bright. Rain invites one to see and hear and feel and smell and taste (yep, I still like to tilt my head back and stick my tongue out in the rain) more than what those senses first take in. “Drops like stars,” according to a young friend of Rob Bell. Stars everywhere as the rain splashes off of all it touches. Rain reminds me there is more to every experience than can be understood simply. Life is both and. And, like the rain, life can become tiresome and cold. I hope to remember the other side of the and. I hope to see the stars.
Like bugs we crawl for the cracks.
Exposed by the light, we seek comfort in darkness.
Beneath mottled leaves and dusty cobwebs,
We don’t know beauty;
We don’t seek it out.
But through a larva eaten hole
brilliance seeps in.
And when our darkness is illuminated,
perhaps we see it for what it is:
An old pile of all that will decay.