The Taste of Rain (I Will Not Forget)

I am not strong. I am reminded of that fact constantly, each morning as I take in a few breaths of the cool morning air and listen to the birds chirping--and swing aching legs out from underneath the covers and crawl up the stairs, humbled by another sick day. 

Amid the overwhelming weight of weakness, it is hard to remember. It's hard to grasp fully onto life when it seems like everything that I think about revolves around the cursed world--the one ringing with death. Don't forget resurrection, my soul whispers. 

I won't. 

A chronic illness cannot steal my life from me, because my life belongs to Him who turned death backward and proclaimed salvation. 

And so, this year, as Spring has come softly and lovingly, I have relished it. I smell deeply the air filtering through the new green leaves and must be reminded again that that which dies comes to life again--if, in patience, we tend the fields we are given. My field may be my body, now aching, now breaking, now frustratingly slow--now a seed that will die and be resurrected in newness, when I shall run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint. 

It rained this afternoon. I turned my windshield wipers on and breathed in the humidity and let the sound bring rest to my soul. Peace--surpassing understanding. Surpassing the tangible reality of joints that hurt or a body that groans to be made new. Surpassing frustration at uselessness and the rugged memory of cruel dreams. Surpassing me and my temporary circumstance that seems so inescapable but is, in reality, just a blink in eternity's eye. 

Why? 

Why are you cast down, o my soul? Why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall yet praise Him, the help of my countenance and my God. Psalm 42:11

My soul takes refuge in my God--all the more so when my body fails me, for there is no comfort in my flesh right now. But God does not fail, nor will He be shaken by the tempests that rock me. He remains steadfast and sure, He in whom I shall put all my hope, the Lord who brings rain in its season which gives each open heart the substance to grow. Without trial, we would remain easily bent and tossed to and fro by every wind that arises. 

But when you are bent to the earth, desperate in soul or body, frustrated and aching--remember. Remember Spring, when the lilacs are blooming and the rain comes in bursts. 

Remember that on the third day, Christ rose again and He is coming again soon to reclaim His bride.