I woke up to the strong possibility of rain. As I watched the sun position itself eerily behind a cloud, and moments later heard the distant rumble of thunder, it became evident. April 26th would once again be filled with rain.
As our four little ones gathered at windows, uniting in the familiar melody of "Rain, rain, go away..." their arms wrapped around each other swaying to the measured beat, I was both grateful for their innocent voices, reminding me of all that I have in the present, and for the heaviness of the rain, a reminder of what I have lost in the past.
Eleven years have passed since their uncle left this earth. A man who is known only to them by the pictures so lovingly placed, and the stories so thoughtfully shared. And, yet he is known. He is loved by those that never had the opportunity to meet him, because he is loved by us.
Today, the rain brought comfort. The gray skies and heavy droplets an invitation to be tender, to admit that not all of life is sunny and bright. And, so I parked our van in the rain, allowing our littlest the joy of watching diggers at work while I sat, content to watch him, to be quiet, to have no plan while the rain blurred the windshield.
As one dear friend so eloquently summed it up, "April blows." There is an ache that fills my chest as I watch my loved ones remember and live with loss. But, there is also the promise of hope, and the most tender of mercies that are new every morning for those who live by faith in Christ. Even now as I type, the sun is once again finding its way through the clouds, darkness turning to light. I am always grateful for the light, but there are days when the rain seems more fitting.
