It’s pouring down rain; we’re sitting in the main room under the metal tin roof, and it is extremely loud. Rain drops are even leaking through the roof, leaving little spots of this precious wet substance on my journal, smearing the black words. We’re inside of a bass drum, with the orchestra’s Conductor pointing to the cloud percussionists, telling them to beat the drum thunderously. And I am thankful. I am thankful to be out of drought-stricken California and back in the places where life is sweated out under the equatorial sun; where hunger pangs are satisfied by the simple meal of rice and beans.
And just as quickly as it slows down and the geckoes peek their heads out to see if a leafy umbrella can be found, the Rain-Maker, the Life-Giver dumps out more heavenly-sized buckets. And I am thankful. For the wetness on my skin to be water rather than sweat; to be in the company of amigos, whom I do not understand and who do not understand me, but who are familia, brought together by the blood of Christ.
I am thankful to be reminded of my puniness, dwarfed by the Father’s orchestral rainstorm. And yet I am loved. If I were God, I think I would the rain and the thunder and the lightning more. I would think, “They obey. They follow my command. Forget the humans, those prideful, disobedient people who think they can control the world.” Yes. If I were God, I think I might do things a bit differently. But I am not. And for this, I am thankful.
Because the Real God loves me, my messy, disobedient, prideful self more than He loves the obedient thunder, lightning, and rain. Yes, I am not God. And that is good. Very, very good.
Oh. And by the way, the Conductor is still telling the clouds to beat the drum. I think I recognize this heavenly tune though, scored for the instruments of rain, thunder, and lightning. Yes, I can hear it now. “You are loved. You are my daughter. I am proud of you. I have chosen you. I will never leave you.” This song is on repeat, played throughout creation. And I am thankful.
