With a shaking bang and crash, thunder shattered the stillness of the night and caused me to roll into the listless, yet comforting, arms of my sleeping husband. A short while later rain danced on the roof and splashed against our bedroom windows. My heart rejoiced.
What’s the big deal you wonder? I’ll tell you, but here’s the thing–most folks get immediately uncomfortable when I get woo-woo or talk about personal faith, so I usually keep those thoughts to myself. Do you know how it is when you’re having a light conversation with a friend and they drift into heavy political topics and you really, really, don’t want to go there? Yeah, like that. Even though I am a christian, sometimes I find it easier to abstain from talking about God in the form that shuts down the listener. There are oodles of euphemisms for a power greater than us, so please feel free to insert the descriptor of choice.
Back to my rejoicing in the middle of the night. Earlier in the day I had been watering our plants. Potted plants, the garden beds, the plants Booker dug up and left to die by sun-baked torture, all garnered a sprinkle from the kinked garden hose. There was so much need, and so little my efforts seemed to be accomplishing.
Stepping gingerly among the the droopiest of vegetation I gave a glance towards the cloudless sky. “Please let it rain. I know it isn’t in the forecast, but even half an inch would be beneficial for this earth. Please.” The sun continued to beat down on my shoulders, but I let my wish rise to the universe.
The following morning my husband brushed my lips with a kiss. “Guess what? According to the rain gauge we got an inch of rain last night.”
Like I said, call it the Universe, call it God, call it the Great Spirit, or whatever works for you. Having a prayer answered was the best part of my day.