All my life I've
heard the phrase "Be careful what you wish for". I wished for rain,
and it appeared, accompanied by sparse bursts of thunder and a splattering of
lightning.
The first night, I
took Pickle for a walk in it--these were not like the storms I knew in
Pennsylvania. The thunder sounded far enough away that it could have been on
the other side of the Sound. The lightning was silent. As we walked, I thought
about the fear we always had walking in thunderstorms at home (before the rain).
I used to fear that my belt buckle or watch would be my downfall, attracting
lightning like the glow of eyes in the woods as our flashlights shown in. And
yet we were always safe.
"That was some
storm, huh?" my co-worker asked the next day. I stared at him to determine
his level of seriousness.
"I guess for
Seattle," I shrugged. Two booms of thunder made for "some
storm"? We still have power; the trees are all standing; and it rained for
about 30 seconds.
At first, I thought
the storms were a sign of encouragement: I had prayed for this. Maybe this was
my sign that things were going to work out--all of the work stress and worry.
But then the clouds stuck around. The rain continued for a few days, and I remembered that in
Seattle, grey is not a temporary word. I worried that it was here to stay
already, that there would be no break of sun in a few days--were we locked in
the six-month grey season already?
My worries were
premature, as the hot summer days have already returned. But I love them more.
The worry of winter reminded me that it's only bright for this short
while--soon we won't even see the sun's shadow paint the sky. Maybe I'm
still learning to the love rain, but I think I've realized this week that I'm
learning to love the sun too. And learning to pray. And learning to accept the
forecast.
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