Rain cannot discriminate on where it may fall based on those below.
I first found comfort in this truth while I was in California, a state currently engulfed by flames, ever more desperate to quench its thirst as the winter months draw nearer.
These past two weeks however I have been engaged in planning a chapel service set to take place on September 11th, and while I’ve struggled to reconcile how to honor and worship the Lord on that day, Erika decided to make an appearance, and I realized, in my carelessness, I had categorized all rain to be good.
Water, is it not the giver of life? Does it not help plants to grow and forests to flourish? Before there was transportation and technology, there was water, and it determined where and how we lived and still does today. As I have been fervently praying for rain to come and soak the burning mountainsides in the Sierra Nevadas, a place I dearly hold on to as home, others were fervently praying for the dispersion of a storm bent to wreck and ravage.
Rain falls on everyone equally. If a hurricane runs through a nation, it does not spare any house because of its inhabitants or their deeds.
It is this caveat of grace I so desperately hate. Would the world not be a better place if hurricanes only ravaged those who deserve it and not the starving single mothers in who are trying their hardest to provide for their children or the few that stand up and rise against injustice only to be severed and silenced forever a moment later.
Rain, is it good or bad? I have always been taught it is the most precious natural gift but I cannot help myself from cursing it when the heavy storms come or when it refuses to fall on parched land.
But that too is the beauty of it, is it not? A gift that comes and goes and is equally welcome to all, which main purpose is to restore and refresh. How can I not find comfort in its call?