It’s raining where I live right now in Phoenix. I grew up liking the rain, probably because it happens so rarely here.
Spending time in different parts of the world gave me a different perspective of rain. I remember one abnormally large rain storm when I was living in Mexico. I left the dry warmth of my house in the middle of the night because I knew that the storm had to have blown houses away, leaving entire families to huddle together under mattresses, cardboard, and blankets. The local government opened the high school as a shelter from the rain so I drove around offering rides to anyone who wanted to leave their belongings and at least be dry. I drove a lot of those people back to their houses the next day only to find what the storm hadn’t damaged, thieves had stolen.
In El Salvador, I met a few families whose houses had literally slid down a hill during a mudslide caused by a bad rain.
In Nicaragua, I met an entire community of 500+ people that had been permanently displaced by Hurricane Mitch, never to return to their demolished neighborhood.
I remember driving around the day after the big storm in Mexico. I saw clothes, books, blankets, and school work all hanging out to dry. It rained again the next night.
Rain falls on the rich and the poor. It’s a simple but profound reality.
Rainy days are a reminder to pray for families that are huddled together for warmth.
Rainy days are a reminder that the work is far from done.
Rainy days are a reminder to be thankful for what I have.