Healing Rain

I don't remember exactly what I had done to make me feel this way.  But something that night of my junior year in college made me feel ugly.  Gross.  Dirty.

All I remember is waking up the next morning, sitting by my living room window with my journal and begging God for some rain.  Some healing rain.  Some heavy rain.  Rain that would drop so hard on my face that after one minute of being in it, I would be thoroughly drenched.

I imagined myself out in the middle of it.  Head tipped back.  Arms stretched out.  Pound after pound of each raindrop hitting so fast that I have to close my eyes and instinctively open my mouth.  I can't hear anything except that rain.  And no one else is there.  But I feel clean.  I feel refreshed in a way that a shower can't accomplish.  Because this rain - this cleansing - comes from heaven.

One more glance out the window of my living room assures me that there is no rain.  Not even a sign of rain.  No chance.

Defeated, I pack up my bag and head out the door to another day of student teaching.

The radio is on and life stops as I realize the song is about rain.  Not just that song, but the next one, too!  Every song on the radio as I drove those 10 miles to my 6th grade classroom was about rain.

God HAD sent me rain - in the form of song.  To tell me that I was clean.  I was perfect.  I was His.

And He was listening.