Rain on My Face

I’ve been running for several years…decades, really. If you are a runner, you know the feeling of clarity, reflection, connection and alignment that comes during a nice long run. I especially love running in the rain. It’s cleansing and redeeming. My running time is spiritual. I use it to sort out some issues with God, pray, praise, reflect over the abundance I enjoy compared to the vacancy of my past.

Last fall I was on a run and I was reflecting on a time in my childhood where the only memory I have is a flash of me laying in bed, in a dark room, crying. I seem to remember crying every night – like that was a normal way to fall asleep. But I also remember feeling such pain. I was about 5 or 6 years old. While I cried, I whimpered words to someone…to the air…to the universe. I can’t remember what the actual words were. But for a 5 or 6 year old, you can imagine the verbal expression was only a fraction of what was truly on my heart. Something like, “Oh, please don’t let my dad die,” really probably meant, “oh, please don’t let me be hurt anymore, I need someone who will take care of me, give me stability, be there for me.” And something like, “Make it better,” probably meant something along the lines of, “I beg you to stop my pain. I beg you to stop my loneliness. I beg you to give me back my mom. I beg you to make her normal. I beg you to give me a safe place.”

It wasn’t until I was an adult having my own children that I remembered this memory, and realized that it was God who was hearing me…that who I was talking to was God…and he listened. I never knew who or what I was talking to…I didn’t have the words or heart or faith for it when I was 5.

My mantra while running is to thank God for listening to me at that time, for delivering me from that place, and for catching every tear I shed. When the song by Casting Crowns, Praise You in This Storm, came out I couldn’t stop listening to it. The lyrics, “and every tear I cried, you held in your hands. You never left my side. And though my heart is torn, I will praise you in this storm,” are so utterly close to my experience that God’s presence resonates to my bones when I hear it.

So I am running along last fall, and it’s a beautiful day by any standard: cool, crisp, clear, white fluffy clouds. It was truly amazing, and the coolness in the air made me anticipate winter, and all the rain-running yet to come. On my ipod came Praise You in This Storm as it usually does around mile 3, and I once again picture myself as a little kid, in a dark room, in bed crying. And I begin to thank God for listening to me…to that little child. He brought me out of that, not just barely, but victoriously. I thank Him for blessing me with a solid marriage, and for children whom I can give love and certainty…and for the opportunity to hug them when they cry…say “I’m sorry” to when they’re upset. I am so thankful to be given the wisdom to know that what I have in the “normal-ness” of my roles as a mother and a wife, are truly gifts beyond measure.

I say out load, panting as my run comes to an end, “God, I know you caught every tear I ever cried, and may every raindrop that ever touches my face remind me of the way you cared for me when I didn’t even know it, and delivered me to a life I could never have even imagined.”

And all of the sudden, within seconds of the words leaving my lips, a soft rain began to fall. Out of nowhere, it came. I started laughing and crying all at once and the rain came down harder. I looked up at the sky and took it all in. In that moment there was such an extreme mutual feeling of love happening between me and God.

I didn’t want it to end…but I wanted to share it with my husband. So after I was sufficiently soaking wet, I ran into the house to find him. As I came down the hallway, I looked out the living room windows and saw that the rain had stopped. Just like that.

From the kitchen, Bryan saw me and said, “Looks like you got caught in that surprise down-pour. But knowing you, you probably loved it.” I just smiled, “Yeah, I sure did.”