Rain is like a balm. It’s raining hard right now. The sky has grown dark. And for the first time all day, I can breathe easy. It’s cleansing and refreshing, and just what my soul needs.
I’m often perplexed when I hear complaints about “bad weather.” I seem to relish bad weather. Extreme fog – oh, yeah. Blizzards – bring ‘em on. Thunder and lighting – wahoo! I draw the line at death and destruction – that’s not what I’m talking about here.
The main concern in these complaints seems to be that it makes travel hard. Dangerous, even. True. But I confess that that’s part of what I love so much. Last year we had what seemed like a series of blizzards in the northeast. The only enthusiasm I ever hear surrounding bad weather is the cancellation of school or work. Fair enough.
But more than that, I love what feels like a creation-imposed Sabbath. Everything stops, and no one has any choice about it. Of course it is ideal if one is stuck at home, as opposed to an airport. But still.
I love that the weather is something that we have absolutely no ability to control. It is what it is. It stops us. And sometimes we really need to be stopped. If only in that stopping we could also be still. And if we could be still we might really hear, and we might really see.
Sunshine is all well and good. It has its proper place in the matrix of weather systems and patterns. But all sunshine all the time is blinding. Just give me some bad weather some of the time, and teach me how to feel, how to be human, and what my place is in the midst of it all.