Monday, February 14, 2011

Thoughts on Rain

It started yesterday.

Pit. Pat. Pitter-pat.

I laid on my bed, listening to it splatter onto the corrugated plexi-glass outside my window.

Pit-pit-pitter pat. Splat.

The slow, drenching, soaking rain lasted all night, leaving behind its memoirs of dark, heavy, swollen clouds.

It resumed ten minutes ago.

Split. Splat. Pitter pat.
Splop. Plip plop splat.

It slowly grew into a roar.

Somewhere between plip and roar, I had to make my move from the science building to my apartment. I, with long skirt, awkward backpack/armful, and glasses, eyed passing students with envy as they toted their umbrellas.

Then I thought.

I thought about the rain.
I thought about how much we've needed rain, after a very dry rainy season, after weeks and weeks without it. I thought about the cracks in the earth that swallow cellphones and calculators whole. I thought about the numerous water distributions we've made to Maasai villages around Maxwell. I thought about how good a shower felt after a very dusty hike on volcano Mt. Longonot.

I thought about the rain.
I thought about how much the rain was needed; the earth, the flowers, the trees, the people. I thought about how the fissures in the soil would close, how the grass would green, and how the people would rejoice. I thought about the Maasai women would be able to rest a couple of days, rather than trek over 14hrs by foot to fetch enough water for 2 days.

I thought about the rain.
I thought about student Inah's wise comparison of drops of water to God's blessings. I thought about how hard it would be to dodge those blessings, even with an umbrella; your feet always get wet. I thought about how often I wish I had certain umbrellas to keep me warm and dry and "safe", to keep me in the state the world thinks I should be, and how I get so caught up in umbrella-hunting that I forget to stop and enjoy the deluge of blessings. I forget how wonderful it feels to be clean. I forget how much I need the showers.

Showers of blessing, sent from the Savior above.

Rain on me.

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