I sat in bed against all our fluffed up feather pillows with a “faith” cup I was given for my birthday – full of coffee and cream of course. The curtains were open just enough for me to see the sky’s expansive shower head, rain down in a westerly direction. Every now and then between whispering prayers and reading Psalm 73, I looked up into the darkest parts of the trees to see if God had turned the tap off. It’s easier to see the translucent rain drops that way. It was still raining, a lighter pressure than before, and the naughty branches were quarreling with each other.
It’s a good day for rain I guess. Life must go on, even though everything is a bit more difficult to do, umbrellas, plastic bags, rubber boots. Mine, are shallow orange plaid so I can’t go wading in the deep puddles. Maybe that’s why my husband bought them for me, orange so he could spy me from a mile away, and shallow to keep me on the sidewalk.
I feel like a little girl who needs to be told to keep out of the puddles. I feel like a little girl most all the time. I keep her close to the surface in everything I do, that way I hear the birds sing, and watch for what God is going to say next.
What are you going to say today, Lord? When the sun is out I think we run off and play without consulting you, but when it rains everyone is a bit more unsure of how to proceed.