When I was young, my family and I would go for regular walks in the forest, rain or shine. During one particularly powerful squall, my dad held my younger sister and I under the cover of a cedar tree. "Look," he said, "at how the raindrops strike the wooden railing on that bridge. Look at how the water sprays."
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| Rail Top Rain Drop by Robert Case |
We watched as the wooden plank transformed into a bombing range for two or three minutes. As each drop made contact, it was annihilated into a cone of water an inch or two in height. The rain was so intense that I almost expected craters to be etched into the wood.
That was the day I learned that my dad was the kind of man who could find the beauty in a raindrop. It would take a decade to realize that he had devoted thirty years of his life to raising children who can appreciate those raindrops. My siblings and I grew up in a west coast town that had on average 167 rainy days per year. By learning to find joy wet weather, we could fall in love over and over with this funny place called home. By learning to see the grace in everyday, we could make a new home wherever the wind would blow us.
On the way home from the drug store, I left my hood down. It was so easy to feel as excited and dramatic as the weather that washed over me. The rain only lasted a few minutes, but it was long enough to remember how to feel alive. Someone told me that the key to a happy life is to learn to dance in the rain. When taken literally, I have to agree.
