It rained today, for the first time in two weeks (and two weeks ago, it only rained for maybe five or ten minutes). I'd come home from taking something over to my parents' house around lunchtime, and I was just bushed. I'm always tired these days, so I lay down to take a nap. Well, after maybe half an hour, I heard the wind rushing through the eucalyptus and mango trees behind our house. I'd noticed that it was a bit cloudy, but I thought, Certainly it can't rain. The rainy season is over.
And then I heard the first pitter-patter of liquid life, dripping onto our tin roof. It lulled me back to sleep.
When David came home after work, I woke up when he came into the room. "David," I said, "I dreamt that it rained." He smiled ruefully and said, "Not very likely, though." And so I really thought I had dreamt it all--the wind moving through the house and the sound of rain sprinkling down.
Within ten minutes, the same wind came pouring through the house, and I heard the telltale sounds of coming rain. David looked out the window. "Wow," he breathed. "Rain." Sure enough, water began to sprinkle down, then pound on the roof above us. I couldn't believe it. The smell of wet earth seeped through the open windows, and I inhaled deeply.
It rained for more than a half hour, and we reveled in it.
It may rain once or twice more before the heavy dusts move in from the North, but this was probably the last of the heavy rains--just when we'd mournfully put away our umbrellas for the season. With little surprises like these, how can anyone not believe in a good God?
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