Rainstorms and What's Next

As I Was Saying is a forum for a variety of perspectives to foster faith-related conversations among our readers with the goal of mutual learning, even in disagreement. Apart from articles written by editorial staff, these perspectives do not necessarily reflect the views of The Banner.

Since I was a small child, I’ve always loved a good rainstorm. Some of my earliest reliable memories are of pressing my face against the glass in my grandparents house, watching lightning arc across the sky accompanied with popcorn. Grandpa and Grandma taught me to appreciate rather than fear the awe-inspiring display of a thunderstorm unleashed, and that lesson stuck.

It’s still a favorite pastime of mine to curl up with a good book and watch a spring drizzle. Occasionally, I’ll choose to go experience the rain outdoors, especially if it’s a warm day. If I happen to get caught in a downpour, I don’t particularly mind. When I see thunderheads gathering, I’m reminded of sitting on the beach watching clouds roll in over Lake Michigan. I love the way parched greenery comes alive as raindrops bead on branches and leaves. When I’m surrounded with the ephemeral smell of wet earth and growth scientists call “petrichor”, I wish I could freeze time just to bask in it.

The best thing about all of these moments of joy and beauty is how little I have to do with making them happen. More than a year ago now, I wrote a column for The Banner about the ways my life was filling with uncertainty as the end of college inched closer every day. I’ve written about how taking Jesus’ advice in Matthew 6 and stopping to consider the flowers of the field carried me through that previous season of the unknown. But no matter how many plans I’ve made since then, I’ve certainly never directed a warm wind to blow into town or drawn up blueprints for a change in atmospheric pressure.

It’s been a year since those writings, and I’m back in a similar season full of questions about what’s next. When I share my latest uncertainties, people are often fond of sharing a Bible verse such as Isaiah 55:9, where God speaks through the prophet.

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts,” God says. This passage is meant to be reassuring, a reminder that God’s plan for our lives can be hard to see from our human point of view.

I think that message of reassurance would be stronger if those who share it with me would include the imagery that follows. God uses a variety of illustrations to remind us what divine power looks like:

“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands” (Is. 55:10-12).

What a beautiful image! Here, the Bible’s words remind me of another reason I love the rain: we need it. The rejuvenating power of rain for creation serves to remind us of how true flourishing is only possible through God’s provision. On a rainy day, when most people are huddled and hurrying to the nearest dry place, I’ll often be grinning like a fool instead. The orchestra of thunder, splashes, and bubbling storm drains all remind me that it is thanks to God that the world bursts into song.