As I sped up the interstate, closer and closer to the rain, I thought of growing up on the coast of Virginia. These sudden pops up were always part invigorating and part terrifying. We would watch the creeks rise and the ditches fill and wonder if the bridge in and out of town was already too covered to be passable. We would sit on docks as the rain drove down, enjoying the break in the heat and mosquitoes, knowing that it would only be a matter of minutes after the last drop landed before both were back, stronger than before.
I thought of the last summer in the house I grew up in, where the storm was sudden and stronger than we thought, and the power knocked out for hours. The littles among us loved it and chased one another with flashlights and muddy feet. My momma and sister and I sat at a table, playing cards for the first time in years. Howling with laughter, we watched and critiqued as Daddy wandered around trying to fix things in the dark, his shoes squeaking across the kitchen tile. The rain fell and fell and fell, providing a constant soundtrack to an otherwise silent neighborhood.
I felt almost as if I was back on vacation in Florida, aunts and uncles and cousins and spouses piled into the same house, busting at the seams with beach towels and puzzles and margarita mix. At least once every trip, the storm would come suddenly - usually finding it is landing spot right before supper. We would all be sun kissed and freshly showered, the day's beach adventure washed away. The rain would drive us all to the kitchen table, as many chairs as pulled up as possible, with the youngest of us perching on counter tops and sofa backs. There would be no late night beach walks or trips to the boardwalk in the golf cart. No, the rain would keep us inside. All three generations, hunkered down with one another, the rain urging us to relish our time together.
I drove through the wall of water, the sky changing instantly, my wipers working overtime. I took the exit and as the car slowed from the frantic pace of 400, rolled down the windows just slightly to smell the rain and feel the drops on my arm. I drove over the dam, watching Lanier churn and bounce with each bead of water that hit. I pulled into our neighborhood, thankful for the safe trip and the cleansing rain. The calm and quiet it seemed to force us all to embrace. The new life it would eventually provide.
And as I pulled into our driveway, I spotted two little girls rocking on the front porch with their daddy, kicking their feet into the rain, squealing as it hit their uncovered toes. I scooped them up and, laughing, pulled them into the yard. We splashed in mud puddles and drank water that rolled off leaves and guessed how full the koi pond would get before the rain finally ceased. We danced through the storm and, when finally the thunder and lightening decided to join us, we ran inside for fresh clean pajamas and night time snuggles. As we kissed each little head goodnight, the rain continuing on and on outside their windows, I wondered if decades from now they would feel the same way about the storm. Would they remember fondly the feel of the front moving in? Would the smell of the rain in the air mixed with the blooming magnolias transport them to easy, happy childhood days? Would the first roll of thunder make them feel comforted and secure, knowing they had weathered storms like this plenty of times? So when I laid my own head down, the rain still driving the thunder now angry as it boomed more and more frequently, I thanked God for all the storms in my life. For the break they bring and how they force us to refocus on the important things. How everything seems fresh and renewed when they have passed. For the reminder that we are not in control, and in the end that is so freeing. And I fell asleep happy and comforted, the pounding rain a welcome lullaby.
