Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Raincatcher

It's raining.

It's been a long time since the tears of heaven have washed the dust of earth.

I always loved the short summer showers. The refreshing massage of moisture into the thirsty soil. Those times when the slow, steady rhythm would commence and convince the world that it was always so, only to abruptly stop before we could question why it came.
But the winter rains - the harsh, beating, driving rain that cuts through to your heart - the storms that never stop. Those drenching, depressing, never ending deluges of precipitation that can never make up its mind as to what form it wishes to manifest.
I think of the rains and see my ungratefulness. How I only wish for the warm summer rains. The peace. How when the dark storms come I long for something better.
And it's the same with life.
I want the gentle, growing, refreshment. I forget that the storms are what carve beauty into mountains. That trying times are what makes me more like Him.

When will I learn to catch the rain with empty hands?

I want to be a vessel that receives what the Gardener and Sculptor has seen fit to give. To desire to be grown, but also willing to be beaten down by storms. To see the gifts as what they are.
Children see the gifts. In any weather they'll run into the rain, catching liquid with their mouths, hands, empty glasses held high. An umbrella is simply a larger vessel to use, not a shield from the elements.

So I purpose to be grateful. To receive the gifts, and to catch the rain with empty hands.

1 comments:

Caleb said...

You have some fantastic writing, Leah. :)

Raincatcher

It's raining.

It's been a long time since the tears of heaven have washed the dust of earth.

I always loved the short summer showers. The refreshing massage of moisture into the thirsty soil. Those times when the slow, steady rhythm would commence and convince the world that it was always so, only to abruptly stop before we could question why it came.
But the winter rains - the harsh, beating, driving rain that cuts through to your heart - the storms that never stop. Those drenching, depressing, never ending deluges of precipitation that can never make up its mind as to what form it wishes to manifest.
I think of the rains and see my ungratefulness. How I only wish for the warm summer rains. The peace. How when the dark storms come I long for something better.
And it's the same with life.
I want the gentle, growing, refreshment. I forget that the storms are what carve beauty into mountains. That trying times are what makes me more like Him.

When will I learn to catch the rain with empty hands?

I want to be a vessel that receives what the Gardener and Sculptor has seen fit to give. To desire to be grown, but also willing to be beaten down by storms. To see the gifts as what they are.
Children see the gifts. In any weather they'll run into the rain, catching liquid with their mouths, hands, empty glasses held high. An umbrella is simply a larger vessel to use, not a shield from the elements.

So I purpose to be grateful. To receive the gifts, and to catch the rain with empty hands.

1 comments:

  1. You have some fantastic writing, Leah. :)

     
 

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