the rain

There’s something so special about the rain—

so much it wants to say.

Hold on.

Breathe.

Take a moment.

You are seen.

You are worth investing in.

Lean in.

Lean into the place

where others might pull away.

It’s okay to stay.

This might be the perfect

resting place.

There’s a simplicity,

an understanding,

a quiet vulnerability

in the way it falls.

There’s something about the rain—

oh, how I love the rain.

The very sound ushers in

the voice of peace.

The stillness.

A sound so lovely

it might be the only sound you need.

An invitation

to be everything but urgent.

Rain nourishes

without demanding to be welcomed.

And yet, its presence

is the very nourishment we needed.

Oh rain,

what a gift you are.

You cleanse and purify

what we thought was finished

but wasn’t ready yet.

You soften edges,

blur the sharp lines,

wash the dust from our stories.

You ask us to choose:

Will we resist and run for cover,

or stand still and let you soak us

in the truth we’ve been avoiding?

The very thought

that we get to choose—

to win, to lose,

or simply to learn.

Even when the feelings

take a different turn,

the turn still helps us learn.

The thunder cracks

and makes me wonder

about all the things I’ve wanted most—

some days as simple as a piece of toast,

other days

something my heart can barely name.

Rain might stain

what wasn’t meant to be wet,

or change the shape of something

that wasn’t finished yet.

But that’s the beauty:

you are never just a storm.

You are a cleansing,

a holy interruption,

a reminder that

even the heaviest clouds

eventually break

into light.