A Rainy Day Memory

I used to love rainy days as a kid. When the sky became covered in those ominous gray clouds and thunder rumbled from the heavens, I'd hear my heart pounding in my chest. The sound the sky made grumbled in my bones. It reminded me of manic drumbeats or even the crashing of buildings in a world above the sky. I didn't want to spend those times being afraid, so my little sister and I used to pretend that we were adventurers out in the storm and that we needed protection. We would make our own cheap little forts by tying our bedsheets to the end of the bed posts. We would ask dad to buy us some snacks (and he always did) and we would gather them into the fort as if preparing ourselves for hibernation. We took our favorite toys and they became our trusty sidekicks, mapping out new terrain as we waited out the dangerous lightning storm that was threatening to ruin our entire expedition. 

We were scared. But it was the fear that could only be conjured during make-believe. The real world couldn't hurt us. We knew we were safe. It was exhilarating watching the rain tear from the sky with fascination and awe. Our windows, covered in raindrops, resembled stained glass. We were in our own world, stars in our personal movie. The patter of the storm became our symphony. The thunder became our plot thickening sound effects. The crackle of lightning was our stage light. We were the performers in a story only we would appreciate. As I got older, I would replay those happy moments and marvel at how simple and beautiful they were. 

Sometimes, a member of our travel party would get lost in the wilderness. Huddled together under our sheet, we would stare off into the wide expanse which was our carpet and silently search for the courage within ourselves to brave our imaginary world and search for our missing friends. We knew that we were needed. We knew we were their only hope. And this realization spurred us into action. Slowly, we stepped out of our protection, and into the great unknown. 

It never occurred to us that this would be a precursor to the strength we'd develop in later years, as we faced struggle after struggle while tapping into that hidden reserve of bravery within us and pushing on. It never occurred to us to ponder the juxtaposition that we were children prone to dreams of exploration while confined to the  small rooms in our cozy home. We saw the world as much bigger than ourselves, much bigger than reality could ever close in on us. We were not bothered by the lack of space or tools. We gathered our snacks and our will and we crawled through the blue shaggy "jungle", relying on the fact that we were together and that even though the storm was raging, we were sure our of success. 

Along the way, always we would run out of food. We seemed to relish those dark moments as we stared wide-eyed and mock afraid into each other's faces and shared a single nod. Food or no food, we were pressing on. Lightning blazed from above and we would cling to each other, momentarily shocked and then giggling out of surprise. We'd use a flashlight (if working batteries were actually in the flashlight then we had hit the jackpot) and sweep it across the "jungle" floor. There. Right there in the shadows. We'd spot a fluffy arm or a chubby face with cheerful eyes staring off into the distance. Probably pondering its demise. 

We'd hold in a great big breath and then charge in, fighting what needed to be fought, ducking under the branches our minds had set up for us, jumping over streams filled with lava or crocodiles or mud. We'd roll and crawl and cling to the short shrub lining hills we had imagined until finally, finally we reached our goal. And there our journey would end. The walk back to base camp would be quick and painless. We'd climb back into our makeshift tent with our missing party safely within reach. We'd ask for more snacks (an unsuccessful attempt) and we'd transform ourselves from adventurers back to young girls hiding under a sheet tied to the bedposts, saving our adventures for another rainy day. 

The Tears of God

Last night the sky opened up. I was asleep in my bed when I heard the loud rumble that indicates thunder. But it was the bright electric flash of lightning that actually opened my eyes. It burst through the blinds in my bedroom, and through my closed lids and I almos gasped with how sharply I was taken out of sleep. But then I calmed down and still dreary I watched the storm through my window. 

Because of the blinds I could only see the sharp blue flash illuminate pieces of the sky and then recede into darkness. The shadows in my room unfurled, their jagged edges stretching across my walls, climbing along my ceiling and then folding back into the blanket of black. 

When I was a small child I was told that the rain were God's tears. I didn't understand. Why would God be crying so much? With selfish, childlike understanding I thought He was crying for my pain, when I got a scrape or bumped my knee. Then as I got a little older I believed that His tears were not just for me, but for the pain of others, the world. I couldn't help but think, God must be sad a lot, it feels like He cries all the time. 

Now as I lay awake watching, listening, I recall my childhood thoughts. I wondered what I would have thought if I had experienced this storm when I was young. This was more than mere sorrowful raindrops falling to the earth. This felt...angry. As if God were opening up the heavens to scream at us all. Maybe he was angry about the wars, about our descent into the comfort of our ignorance and intolerance. Maybe He would scream at us to look at ourselves, to see that we have divided ourselves based on the flimsiest attributes that make us different, rather than the majority of similarities uniting us all. Maybe this was a warning. 

Or a plea. 

Lightning flashed in quick succession. I watched blue crack through black. I watched the sky brighten for the second before darkening. I thought to myself, eons of darkness crumble with just a flicker of light to shine through it. Thunder rumbled, I could swear I heard a cry beneath it.