Mary Ann Ellis
And the rains came down
More than two inches of rain fell on the dry, thirsty soil of Pine Grove Saturday night. I lay in my bed under a cozy red blanket and relished the sound of rain on the roof. I’m convinced that is one of the most pleasant sounds known to man. Intent on listening to the musical pelting, I’d forget to read my book for several minutes at a time, and not much makes me forget to read. Even as Larry and I rushed around to unplug the computers when the lightening worsened, we kept grinning like kids on Christmas morning.
“Listen to that rain,” Larry said. “Hope it rains all night.”
It did. Well, I didn’t stay awake to check, but every time I woke up it was raining. I slept better than I have in a while.
At church Sunday morning someone asked, “When was the last time we’ve had that much rain?”
No one knew. We all knew that it’s been a long time though. Everyone was talkative about a night of solid, steady rain. We’ve been without it so long that we were all longing for healing waters. I guess the drought has done this to us. It’s the old principle of not missing something until you don’t have it anymore, and we’ve been missing the rain for a long time. Larry and I don’t know exactly how long either, but we do have one gauge.
Our dog Charlie, who adopted us this past year, is approximately one-year-old, according to the vet, who checked out his teeth and told me his age. Charlie’s been with us almost a whole year, but he hasn’t been a house dog quite that long. Anyway, when the rain started falling in torrents, he cocked his head to the ceiling and looked us askance. He’d go to the back glass door and look out, then scurry anxiously to another door to check the situation there. He couldn’t seem to find a door he liked. When the lightning brightened the room, Charlie hid his head under the bed while the rest of this body stuck rather prominently out. Before bedtime, Larry insisted that Charlie accompany him to the back yard to take care of some business—Charlie, not Larry. Quite reluctant to step out into the downpour, he finally succumbed to his master’s forceful hand. Instead of dashing to the woods, his outdoor facility, he slid on his belly under Larry’s low-slung trailer and refused to come out.
The moral of this story is that Charlie hasn’t been alive long enough to know how to behave in stormy weather. How long has it been? More than a year? It certainly seems that way.
On the way to church, I listened to the radio as the announcer said that the rain had now left Georgia. About that time, a few drops hit the windshield and then turned to a cloudburst.
“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. “What does the meteorologist know anyway?”
Facebook folk were talking about it. My Sunday school class was talking about it. My family and I talked about it over lunch, and as we talked, the sunshine disappeared and the clouds brought another burst of rain. We were giddy with excitement and pleasure. The whole town seemed to be.
Upon returning from church, I checked the mailbox, which I had neglected Saturday, and pulled out the usual assortment of bills and junk mail. As I sat there riffling through the mail, I noticed a rare sight indeed--water standing in the ditch. Two blue jays were splashing and cavorting in it. They were as excited as their human counterparts about the rain. I wonder if they are the same birds that enjoyed out sprinklers so much last summer. I guess they’re pretty safe from our cats since those ferocious felines aren’t likely to romp anywhere near the water.
Every single day I pray for our drought to be finished, and nothing makes me feel better than a beautiful, soggy weekend. Maybe many more of them are in our future.
It did. Well, I didn’t stay awake to check, but every time I woke up it was raining. I slept better than I have in a while.
At church Sunday morning someone asked, “When was the last time we’ve had that much rain?”
No one knew. We all knew that it’s been a long time though. Everyone was talkative about a night of solid, steady rain. We’ve been without it so long that we were all longing for healing waters. I guess the drought has done this to us. It’s the old principle of not missing something until you don’t have it anymore, and we’ve been missing the rain for a long time. Larry and I don’t know exactly how long either, but we do have one gauge.
Our dog Charlie, who adopted us this past year, is approximately one-year-old, according to the vet, who checked out his teeth and told me his age. Charlie’s been with us almost a whole year, but he hasn’t been a house dog quite that long. Anyway, when the rain started falling in torrents, he cocked his head to the ceiling and looked us askance. He’d go to the back glass door and look out, then scurry anxiously to another door to check the situation there. He couldn’t seem to find a door he liked. When the lightning brightened the room, Charlie hid his head under the bed while the rest of this body stuck rather prominently out. Before bedtime, Larry insisted that Charlie accompany him to the back yard to take care of some business—Charlie, not Larry. Quite reluctant to step out into the downpour, he finally succumbed to his master’s forceful hand. Instead of dashing to the woods, his outdoor facility, he slid on his belly under Larry’s low-slung trailer and refused to come out.
The moral of this story is that Charlie hasn’t been alive long enough to know how to behave in stormy weather. How long has it been? More than a year? It certainly seems that way.
On the way to church, I listened to the radio as the announcer said that the rain had now left Georgia. About that time, a few drops hit the windshield and then turned to a cloudburst.
“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. “What does the meteorologist know anyway?”
Facebook folk were talking about it. My Sunday school class was talking about it. My family and I talked about it over lunch, and as we talked, the sunshine disappeared and the clouds brought another burst of rain. We were giddy with excitement and pleasure. The whole town seemed to be.
Upon returning from church, I checked the mailbox, which I had neglected Saturday, and pulled out the usual assortment of bills and junk mail. As I sat there riffling through the mail, I noticed a rare sight indeed--water standing in the ditch. Two blue jays were splashing and cavorting in it. They were as excited as their human counterparts about the rain. I wonder if they are the same birds that enjoyed out sprinklers so much last summer. I guess they’re pretty safe from our cats since those ferocious felines aren’t likely to romp anywhere near the water.
Every single day I pray for our drought to be finished, and nothing makes me feel better than a beautiful, soggy weekend. Maybe many more of them are in our future.
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