On this particular night, I emerged from our practice feeling quite refreshed - strong, tall (which is a big deal for me) and my heart open to the night before me. I could see that some dark clouds were looming in the sky a ways off, but still I turned down several offers for a ride home. "I like the walk," I answered, and set out for home.
A few minutes down the road I heard the first rumbles of thunder. I lifted my gaze upward, where the dark clouds had drifted directly over me. I lengthened my stride and quickened my pace, certain that I could beat the impending storm to my front door. A wind began to blow fiercely, carrying with it the scent of wet pavement. I knew then that I'd lost my race with the weather. I didn't even make it down the hill before the clouds opened up, dumping sheets and sheets of soft, cool rain.
Sometime in the thirty seconds it took to soak me to the bone, I started laughing. It was the sound that comes from a place of authentic joy, not a chuckle meant to please a friend, but a real, genuine laughter. I turned my palms upward, collecting the rain falling all around me. In this moment, each drop was a gift from Heaven itself. Cars zoomed by me, no doubt questioning my sanity as they raced to their warm, dry homes, yet I walked on.
If I had paid attention to the signs, I might have stayed dry tonight. If I had checked the weather, listened to the thunder, let a friend drive me home from class, then my shoes would not be now sitting on the front porch filled with water. But I also wouldn't have remembered how to really laugh. I wouldn't have seen that the dark skies which should frighten me brought instead a moment I'll never forget. The rain tonight was not unlike the blessings that shower us most days, when Love hangs over our heads like clouds ready to burst. I suspect that they are up there whispering to each other, praying to find us with our guards down, our umbrellas tucked away at home. It's my hope that you and I, walking around this world of ours, will get caught in that downpour.
