Red is a Youth Center Director who loves writing inspiring poems, stories and articles and publishes them online.
Dark clouds were gathering as the passenger jeep approached the intersection to Ayala. A drizzle was already moving in, like dark mist, steadily enveloping everything within its reach. I braced my body to keep it warm. The cold wind blew, waking up my every hair like possessed strings in steady strands. By the time the traffic reached the entrance of the mall, the rain was already drawing its fury, setting every living thing scurrying for cover. I walked inside the department store, wet.
It’s been days already since rains faithfully pummeled the metro every afternoon. What’s more, is that days had already passed since I planned to do the laundry. I just can’t—the rain is steadfast. Often times I thought hating rainy season. It keeps you indoors, bored and wanting. This thought came in while I was waiting at the mall entrance for the torrent to stop. I looked at the people standing with me. Blank faces staring out. In front of us was the terminal, people there were also staring back. We were like soldiers in the midst of a fight, waiting for the signal to dash. But there’s really no fight, just the urge to cross over the rain, the flood.
Then a remembrance hit me. When I was still a young boy, I love playing in the rain. I can still remember that time when I was sitting by the window, looking at children dashing and splashing their feet on some puddles. I watched with grinning envy. I asked my mother to let me play with them. She didn’t consent. I went out anyway.
First were a few drops. I let the trickling from the roof fall down on my head, feeling the cold stream of water flowing down my back. I was cold but giggling. Minutes later, my whole body was soaking wet. After a few moments, I was already down the road with some kids, playing tag and wild.
I wonder what changed when I grew up. I don’t like playing in the rain anymore. I find it a nuisance. I hate the cold, the wetness, and the goosebumps. As I was meditating on these things, feeling lonely and reminiscing, another thought came.
What is rain? Some people dread it. Others want more. Rain causes floods, traffic, mud, landslides, and businessmen’s frowns. It also causes trees’ growth, rivers’ flow, and farmers’ smiles. Most kids love it and I love it as a kid. Then I remember a song, “Grace Like Rain”.
A flash of lightning struck. Thunder rolls followed it. Its echo boomed down the whole city, shaking glass windows and doors. Then, it dawned on me. Thank God He did not rain lightning and flood thunder. I was grateful He just let it rain. Like rain flooding every cracked and parched soil, His grace rained down and flooded every crack of the human soul. His grace fell down, saturating the unexpecting, the undeserving, and the unwanting. It streamed through every soul affected and flooded every hearts dejected. It angered the proud and satisfied the contrite.
The cold wind blew again, but I felt the warmth. In every rain, there’s grace and every grace, a rain. I made my way through the people gathering around, determined to cross, to feel the rain, to drench in its cool streams. After a few steps outside, it stopped.
© 2019 Red Fernan