When I say things are dry, it is dry like it has never been dry.
When I say this Florida girl misses rain and big puffy clouds to hide the sun, I miss it like I have never missed it before.
When I say that my yard is yellow, the cracks wide enough to serve as a koozie for my Diet Dr. Pepper can, it is more yellow and more cracked than ever.
There has been a sense of almost-desperation for me this summer---for hope, for drops of liquid, for green, for a new day. I seem to empathize with my trees wearing leaves showing yellow heat shock, the plants with wilted leaves, and with the crunchy St. Augustine grass in front of my house.
Sometimes life feels just like a Texas summer---arid, dry, dusty, and brown. All that is green and full of hope is withering. This summer marked the death of my father-in-law. It also held moments of grief when I received news about a friend’s diagnosis, and moments of held breath as another friend awaited test results, worry over a younger family member, and more.
As a result, there were moments of questioning about life, about relationships, and about myself. I have had to reconsider what feeds and waters my soul because, without rediscovering several sources of refreshment, depression and anxiety can take hold in mighty ways, weighing me down in a flood of tears.
Each of us needs a source of water.
Thankfully, there have been moments of emotional refreshment, of spiritual rain, of figurative renewal.
Most were not accidental. It seems that figurative rain rarely happens by chance.
I believe we have to make rain happen. Rain-making involves deliberate, manufactured, conscious decisions to make joy happen in my life.
My figurative rain-making dances this summer have included:
- an inflatable rainbow unicorn worn by my bonus brother
- Jonathan’s excitement about making Sloppy Joes for himself and time eating and cutting tree branches with him (I have spent more time with him this summer than in the past 4 years)
- a shot glass toast with Gatorade Protein water for brighter tomorrows
- a drive to Tahoe with Andy and my favorite Horse Dog and a drive the next day to pick up patio chairs from an online auction with him---(he, like his mother, loves a deal)
- a gentle teary hug from a friend’s daughter at Poppa Rollo’s
- moments with friends in their kitchens, in restaurants, on the phone, and even in the pool as we laughed at a Ted Cruz look-alike
- my visits to museums and the Alley Theater in Houston
- my golden retriever swimming around me in the stocktank pool
- driveway conversations over glasses of wine with my dear neighbor friends
- irreverent laughter with my bonus dad
- “Not Today” T-shirts that reminded us to make us find humor in sadness
- my Labrador with a look of pure joy on her face as we drive down the road in 90-degree morning weather with the windows down
Just as real rain will soak the hardened ground and revive life in my brown yard one of these days, this figurative rain is reviving me as well.
Each rain-making moment represents a drop of life.
Each rain-making moment promises the start of new life in me.
Just as the rain will eventually hit my roof and water my thirsty plants and trees, I am trying to soak in the relationships and small moments of time that bring joy that can refresh and revive my soul.
If you see me in my yard dancing for real rain, just realize that I have been dancing for figurative rain this summer-----and it has come.
Feel free in joining me. Put on some dancing shoes. The rain-making is available to all.
