California is being inundated by a deluge of pounding rain. And for the first time in many years, we are having an actual winter. Never mind the fact that only a week ago, it was sunny and 80 degrees. Right now it is cold and rainy and I think that I actually heard a voice, this morning, beckoning for me to build an ark. Really.
So instead of heading down to the beach and hankering down there, I remain huddled up snugly in our main home reading, watching the last remaining moments of Oprah and wondering how many more days of thrown-together meals I can creatively prepare for Mark and myself.(One. Possibly. Nah.) It is winter break for my three youngest Angel Daughters and aside from their popping in and out to sleep or change clothes or say "Hi Mom!", they are mostly like little ducks braving the inclement weather. For them, the rain rolls right off, for me, it sticks and drenches and chills my bones right down to the very core.
Why is it that our water-repellent cloak seems to thin down over the years, leaving us more open and vulnerable to the elements? What is it that we lose from fifteen to fifty that leaves us feeling more naked in the rain?
And yet, yesterday, when I stepped outside to gather the mail, I stopped and stood outside in my pajamas. Rain pelting down sideways in sharp sheets without mercy. Wind whisking wet leaves off of the trees. Color upon grey upon color. And I thought to myself, I need to capture this moment.
Need.
I ran inside to grab my camera which is always only an arms reach away. Back outside in pajamas already saturated with rain, I began capturing time.
Click. Click-click. Click, click, click.
And as the rain drenched my body, the color upon grey upon color also drenched my soul. Instead of running past the rain with my once naturally-repellent, duck-like coating, I stood in the middle of a puddle in my pajamas(cheetah print!) soaking in the moment while absorbing what is.
And I realized that maybe it isn't so much about what we
lose from fifteen to fifty, but what we gain that truly holds any water.(Okay, please forgive me that very obvious rain analogy.) We might lose the ability to find every day so exciting that we run, unencumbered, from moment to moment ducking our heads underneath an umbrella, but we gain the true saturation of things. The momentary drama of running from the house to the mailbox while catching the quick glimpse of color through the corner of our eye, only stopping to notice it. Really notice it. The ability to stand outside in cheetah-print pajamas, knowing all the while, that the neighbors will probably drive by at that exact moment, but not caring one bit. The way that it feels so darn good to get back inside the warm safety of home and to feel blessed by the ability to prepare a simple meal with my husband of almost three decades. Gain. Gain. Gain. My Angel Daughters have so much to gain. And yet, so do I.
Now, does anyone know how to build an ark?
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