After a day of near-summer heat, my home town returns to rain. And it falls gently around my house, on the grass and the trees and in the garden beds, and coming to the end of a tiring day I am soothed by the sounds it makes. Rain reminds me that God is good: He provides, cleanses, feeds. And He does not let it rain forever. Today the rain is not gloomy for me but a gentle reminder to come out of myself and receive from heaven with open-cupped hands. I am not in charge. The God who sends the rain is, and He is good.
Listening to the water’s soft hands I’m reminded of a tender little poem by Langston Hughes that has the humility of a prayer to it, even though God is never named or addressed. Such humility is often the best way into prayer.
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
Langston Hughes, “April Rain Song”
The Consolations of Writing 