The Rain

I am friends with the rain.
In childhood romps,
Tripping in Mom’s brown rubber boots,
A metal yardstick cold in my eager hand,
Testing each puddle,
Dispersing the results with exulting kicks.


Somehow we lost touch,
The rain and I.
A drop-specked window between us,
Like the endless miles of a road.
Umbrellas, hoods, windshield wipers,
Anything to create a barrier,
From wet and cold,
As if wet and cold could no longer bring me joy.


A misty drizzle joined me on my run the other day,
Uninvited.
Pulling sweatshirt sleeves over my hands,
Setting my gaze forward.
One misstep crashed into a puddle,
Sock now soaked and spattered,
Determining to run – in spite of.


Tender drops covering my face,
Damp tendrils of hair playing in the wind,
Sleeved hands give way to wet as well,
Rain persists.
This rain, that scents the air like no other,
That makes the lake dance,
The ducks revel,
The grass like a carpet of jewels.
This rain, that makes me wet and cold,
I remember,
This rain is my friend.
Opening my arms, turning my face to heaven,
The ashen clouds effuse beauty.
I plunge into the next puddle with purpose and delight,
Choosing to run – because of.

Jehovah Jireh - The Lord Will Provide

One night, in the comfy haze between sleep and sight
God spoke to my heart.
He said, “Daughter, take the one you love most
And sacrifice him to me.”
The words reached deep inside and grasped long fingers around locked treasure trunks of things I planned to keep for always,
pulling at the lids, grieving the hinges.

The request was super difficult,
Because if you pay good attention to verbs like I do, you know
That “sacrifice” goes where “give” refuses to go.

When Abraham and Isaac were walking up the mountain so long ago,
“Give” would have stood the young son on a big rock, had him wave up at the heavens and then head back down the hill towards home for lunch with the fam.

“Sacrifice” had the cherished heir bound and strapped to the kindling on an altar, with his father’s knife raised overhead.

Before he ever put his son on that altar, I’ll bet Abraham made some seriously painful sacrifices.
Disobedience went on the fire first, followed quickly by Unbelief and Pride.
One by one, the things that hindered Abraham from trusting God above all else were burned to ashes.
What remained was a deep seated conviction that Jehovah is a Provider.
Every step up the hill, every length of binding cord, was driven by that truth.

I know how Abraham’s story ended.
Mine? Not so much.
No sheep at my doorstep,
but I’ve released control over the one I love most – and all he represents to me – into God’s hands.
I can almost tangibly feel Fear giving way to the altar’s flames.

And I know,
that somewhere, in that cloud of witnesses Hebrews talks about,
Abraham stands.
And I think he’d still agree,

That Jehovah is a Provider.