Spring is here, and it’s glorious. In Texas, it gets hot fast, so I am spending my days drinking up the sun as I work from my picnic table in the backyard. I take my time, listen to the birds, plant flowers, pull weeds. Daughter, however, is perplexed. Life has brought on a low. She is in a drought. It keeps her up at night. Makes her stomach ache. I breath for my daughter. Silently pray she can make her way. In this stony, dry world.
This morning a sudden thunderstorm woke me with her flashes of light, thunder grumbling her baritone moans.. I watch it cover the backyard from the safety of my window. I am frustrated with her, Rain . It is hard to wait indoors. Wait for the Rain to stop. And hard is frustrating. I think of my daughter. I think this being her rainy season. Her mood matches this Rain.
I open a window. I listen to the Rain as she falls. She is methodical in her fall, drip, drop, splash all in perfect rhythm. I open more windows and watch the flowers in the front. My husband says, “Rain will get in.” “She already is,” I reply. I breathe for daughter and watch the Rainfall in the only way she knows how.
Flowers appear to dance in Rain’s presence. She comes down and they bounce to the right and another to the left. I am mesmerized by this dance. I am reminded of the saying, “Life isn’t about waiting for the rain to stop, but learning to dance in the rain.” Dancing in the rain… Can daughter learn to dance in the rain?
I sit and continue my vigil for my daughter, hope she endures this bout with sadness with renewed strength. Growing up is so very hard.
Like flowers, I suppose daughters can’t grow without their spring baptism. Life cannot continue without this seasonal bath of renewal. Rain washes away the sloth of winter. Cleans the windows so we can once again see. The earth smells better after the rain. Rain has allowed me to watch flowers dance. Daughter cries herself to sleep. She wakes feeling better.
The hard helps us see the good. The frustration helps us give thanks for the easy. You cannot have light if you do not have dark. After the rain, flowers have a growth spurt.; they shoot up out of dark soil, through the weeds and make their presence known. They have a renewed sense of confidence, confidence I hope my daughter will have. Rain makes the flower. It gives it growth, after rain, flowers smell stronger, they last longer. Rain builds character.
Character. We all need character. We need the endurance of it, the challenge of it, the grit of it, the grace of it. The knowledge that we have the wherewithal to endure the ugly droughts of life. Flash of light, barbaric yelp, sudden realization Rain ends the drought.
The mind flips, and new perspective floods in. Rain cleanses the raw ache of life. Cools down the heat of life’s problems. Daughter gets up and sighs. She takes the camera outside. She takes pictures of raindrops on leaves, flowers, the sky.
I watch daughter as she takes pictures. The rain has turned the flowerbeds to mud and she learns to be careful where she steps. Rain teaches. Careful steps, through the mud. To a stepping stone. Then the next. Steps gets easier. A flower grows through the mud. Life proceeds.
Daughter comes in dripping, smiling, she dances the wet off. She smells of water, plants, refreshing. She didn’t wilt in the rain. Her smile is renewed. “Mom, stop frowning—Rain is good.”