It was sprinkling as I got into my car to head home from work. By the time I made it out the door for a walk before dinner, it was cascading down steadily. I laced up my waterproof hiking boots and grabbed the Mercedes Benz golf umbrella (I do not golf nor do I drive a Mercedes, but the umbrella was free). The dogs aren’t coming because it’s wet and I can only handle the umbrella tonight.
I head for the neighborhood north of us, wanting different scenery from my morning walk. It’s getting dark fast and the streetlights are already on. I push my way into the neighborhood, determined to shield myself from the rain. My right hand clutches the handle of the umbrella. Drops splash onto my ankles. As my left hand swings back with every other step, my palm catches a handful of chilly raindrops. The staccato pelting of the umbrella’s canvas sounds like drums beating out a steady and comforting rhythm. I tactically avoid the puddles forming on the uneven sidewalk as I stride forward.
About a mile in, I find myself annoyed with the invasive raindrops and then I catch myself thinking, “Why am I annoyed? The temperature is great. The drops are refreshing and I’m getting in a walk.” And in that moment I start paying closer attention to my surroundings, including my own spirit. It’s a great night. I’m facing two full days off in a row—a rarity for me. I intentionally plant my left boot into a puddle to prove that it’s beyond okay to do so. A smile comes to my face. I needn’t worry about the wet.
Then I start to notice the detail of the twilight. The reflective amber of the streetlights dancing in the puddles and the streams of water dashing along the curb. The dark, wet leaves scattered in the puddles like spots on a leopard. The musty smell in the air. The sound of water rushing down into the storm sewers. The traffic humming by in the distance. The baseline thump-thump of the rain on the umbrella. It’s a cacophony of lubricated sights, sounds and smells. A runner passes by me, the spongy sound of his soaked shoes splurting him forward.
So much detail in one small vista, ever changing. Who needs to go to a national park to encounter the majestic? It’s at my feet. I could kneel and put my face close to the ground and find just as much to marvel at.
If spirit is life, then I am surrounded and saturated by it. God is here and God is making a racket. God has all the instruments going in the symphonic masterpiece. And it’s all free and it’s everywhere. And I almost missed it because of my annoyance and determination.
God comes to us most often in the drips and drabs of everyday life. We miss so much because we fail to look, to notice, to seek. We’re lured by our own agenda and attitude that we fail to connect to the Divine that is pouring down on us constantly, washing our parched souls, one drop at a time.
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