Photo by Gage Walker on Unsplash
Sometimes, this is how God speaks.
His voice comes like a spray of rain.
It mists your face or a portion of your skin.
It unsettles you for a moment.
But then you let go.
Another shower comes and another spray of rain kisses you.
And another. Until you begin to pay attention.
Is there someone in the rain calling?
The rain stops.
You wait for it, now earnestly.
Until you fall asleep.
You wake up — the earth and plants are drenched.
You say the next one is yours to fathom.
You shout to the sky and ask the clouds to pour.
Silence.
More silence.
More and more silence.
There will only be silence until you’re ready.
And when you’re truly hungry, it returns.
The first drops are unsettling.
The next ones are cold on your skin.
Oh the discomfort of wearing clothes half dry and half wet!
Big drops keep hitting you on the head, face, shoulders, back, arms, everywhere. You’re offended.
Should you run a way and save your ego before it’s too late?
You stay.
Moments later, clothes dripping wet, heavy and clinging to your skin…
You realise there’s nothing left to do but let your guard go.
Soaked. And soaking still. You let the rain break you.
And bathe you.
As it does, invisible chains break off you
You didn’t realise they’re wrapped around your neck,
Your body, your hands, your feet.
And you begin to dance. A happy dance.
A gotcha dance. A you-didn’t-get-me-this-time dance.
A thank you dance. A wild, free, undignified dance. A there’s-no-tomorrow dance.
An I’ve-been-waiting-for-this-my-whole-life dance.
A [fill in this bracket with what you’ve been dreaming of] dance.
You thought the rain was heavy.
It was the chains that were.
Sometimes, this is how God speaks.
He bothers you.
He triggers you.
He lets you sit in desperation.
He pours water on you and you freak out.
You in prim and proper clothes and all.
Until you pay attention.
Is there someone calling you into the rain?