I have loved the rain since I was a little girl. I loved the cool relief from Florida and Georgia summers as I ran under Heaven’s sprinkler. I loved the power of a thunderstorm that would leave our house powerless. With no lights, television, or computer, we’d come together to hunt for candles, entertain each other, and simply be, watching the yard twist, sway, and flood beautifully from the porch. I love this still. I hear thunder and look to the lights, willing them to go out. I love gentle showers and cloudy days that mist. I love storms with loud, cracking, booming thunder and sharp, brilliant, winding lightning. And I have to confess, no harm desired or acquired, I really do enjoy hurricanes. But I think my favorite rain dances down in sunlight, perfectly golden, as though each drop carries within itself a measure of the sun. My hope is illuminated, and I expect Heaven to come down. And if there’s a rainbow… look out. I feel loved. I’m probably running about, spinning, jumping, clapping, and completely oblivious to anything and everything else. Rain is thrilling yet calming, powerful yet nurturing. It’s life-giving. I feel God in the rain. I drink in His character, His goodness. Rain is associated with relief, redemption, growth, grace, and blessing. When it rains, I feel peaceful, hopeful, thankful, and inspired. I feel the assurance of His promises. I feel at home. So when I left home for this eleven month journey to eleven countries, I asked God to give me rain… in every country. It may seem a silly, sweet request, and maybe it is… but God loves His silly, sweet children. He promises to give them good gifts. And He has gifted this silly, sweet daughter with rain in nine countries so far (and this is month eight of the race!)
Month One: El Salvador
Our ministry contacts told us that it would not rain. It just wasn’t the right time of year. I could expect a lot of sun. This was not what I wanted to hear month one of the race after making my rain request known. But I watched the sky, bluest blue with white puffy clouds, and I waited. I never saw the rain coming… but I tasted a few drops as they fell over our hanging laundry one night and then jumped excitedly and lay down in the street as rain fell another night. I think it was then that people started to catch on that I like the rain… quite a bit. I found myself with “watchmen” who would alert me to the signs and presence of rain on this journey.
Month Two: Honduras
This was a month of cooler weather and regular rain. I was a happy camper, literally. Our squad camped, indoors and out, at our ministry site. My favorite moments alone were spent snuggled up in my sleeping bag, listening to rain falling on my tent. Ah, and there were swings. That’s right… rain and swings, a lovely combination. I’ll never forget swaying and swinging in the rain in Honduras, thankful and doing my very best not to smack into a tree.
Month Three: Nicaragua
It was a hot, hot, hot, dry, dry, dry month. I waited and waited and waited. I saw no rain. One morning after camping (in a cave next to a beautiful waterfall), I was informed that it had rained briefly, and that I had missed it. My thoughts were something like this… “Missed it? It rained, and I missed it? God gave me what I asked for, and I missed it? Should I be thankful instead of disappointed? Will I miss out on other things, bigger things, with God? Wrong place? Wrong time?” Woe. Wrong thinking. Rewind. Trust. Wait. We left our ministry site for squad debrief in Granada. Still no rain. We left debrief. No rain. We set out our sleeping bags in the airport for a few hours of sleep before flying from Nicaragua to Thailand. I was no longer thinking about rain when friends, “watchmen”, found me to ask if I knew that it was raining. Out of the airport I raced to laugh and jump in the downpour with others happy to celebrate in the rain as we left one hot country for another.
Month Four: Thailand
Another hot, hot, hot month, but a humid one. We all welcomed the rain, which fell to our relief a few times. One night, as it rained, we skipped, ran, and jumped down a road in our Thai village. In jumping about haphazardly, I found myself in a rice paddy. A few of the locals gestured for us to go inside and shook their heads as we lingered, thankful for the refreshing rain and the beauty and brilliance of the lightning.
Month Five: Cambodia
It rained every day in Cambodia. One day in Phnom Penh, I ran through nearly knee deep water with broken flip flops that threatened continuously to float away. One of my favorite days at the orphanage in Cambodia… It rained, as it had every other day. You would think the kids would grow tired of the rain, complain indoors, and wait for the sun. But children after my own heart raced out to grab buckets to catch the falling rain and scoop it up from the ground… for a water fight! A water fight in the rain? I knew I loved these kids! Some of the girls rocked back and forth in a large sheltered swing, and a boy circled the watery events with his bicycle. My teammates wondered why I remained inside, but I was content to hold my sweet Deborah and take in the magnificent scene, until… one of the boys walked out carrying two ducks from the kitchen by their feet, heads hanging. I thought, “My…that’s strange. Are the children really going to play in the rain with dead ducks? That’s sort of morbid.” Suddenly the ducks’ clipped wings began to beat wildly for freedom and flight. To my horror, the kids began to toss the ducks into the air and chase after them as they frantically sped through rain and pooling water. Again and again, the ducks were thrown into a frenzy and caught, hope given and taken away. Apparently no one had ever taught these kids that it is not polite to play with one’s food. I ran to the rescue of one of the ducks, held it gently still, and encouraged the children to do the same with its brother. I stroked the duck and sang a song of thanks and sacrifice. It’s good manners to sing to your dinner, right? Sing for your supper? As the rain continued to fall, a familiar question filled my mind and stretched my smile, “Is this real life?”
Month Six: Malaysia
Another month of heat and waiting for the rain. Malaysia was strangely similar to the United States in some ways but vastly different in others. The spiritual atmosphere felt thicker here to me. I longed for a taste of home. God sent rain a couple of nights, just when I needed a lift, a bit of home. One night I prayer walked in the rain illuminated by street lamps. These street lamps were put up within six months of our ministry contacts praying Isaiah 60:1 over this city, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.” We can speak with boldness. We can ask believing.
Month Seven: Rwanda
The weather here was an unexpected gift after Malaysia’s heat. I was delighted to be able to wear sleeves and longed for the boots I’d left behind in Nicaragua. But it was the dry season. I waited. I watched. Occasionally, the sky would become cloudy, and I would hope hope hope, but the sky would clear without a drop. I prayed, waited, watched. One afternoon, I was finishing a sermon I would preach later that night…about the goodness of God. The skies clouded again. I walked up to a teammate talking with a local about the rain. “It is impossible,” the man said when Johnathan told him I was waiting for rain. “But I’ve asked God. All things are possible with God”, I said. The man nodded, conceding, “With God, it is possible.” I sat on the wall and listened to music as one drop fell on my cheek, then another on my brow, another on my lips. In gentle rain, Rachel and I played the contrast, jumping wildly. I was content with a little rain. The rain nearly ceased on the long walk to the pastor’s house for dinner. However, once we were inside, it began to pour. “Ada, did you have to ask for so much rain? We have to walk to church,” my teammates teased. The rain stilled again, and we made our way to church. Again, once inside, the rain began to beat against the roof. Before preaching, I shared with the congregation the request I’d made to God at the beginning of the race and His goodness raining down on me faithfully in every country. They smiled, laughed, and offered up praise to God. The rain stilled again for the walk home. The next day, a few of us were speaking with a man at a nearby university campus. He spoke about the rain, saying, “People were confused…. They said it was a miracle.”
Month Eight: Uganda
We took a roller-coaster-bumpy bus from Rwanda to Uganda with the intention of resting for a couple of days before dispersing to our ministry sites. However, upon arrival, we learned that we were to be rerouted to Kenya due to an outbreak of Ebola in Uganda. We slept, woke, and waited to hear, “Grab your bags! We’re leaving for Kenya!” But before that I heard, “Ada! It’s raining!” (Thanks again, "watchmen"). Seriously? I lay down in the grass and watched the sky. I watched my Dad weave beauty of the blues and greys, light and shadows. I rested in His goodness. He kissed me with rain, with promise.
Month Eight: Kenya
I feel so spoiled this month. Every night, once I'm tucked into my sleeping bag, Lydia reads a story from "Tales of the Kingdom". Every morning I wake in a tent I share with four amazing women. I hear surreal music coming from the birds in the trees above us. I eat breakfast in a hut with more amazing women (coffee included, as long as I meet my blogging deadline. Honest, Justin!). Our days are filled with children’s giggles, hugs, stories, shouts, and the glow they wear when they receive encouragement and love. We lead classes for art, games, music, Bible, and dance. We counsel, pray, organize, paint, milk cows, and farm. The air is cool in the mornings and evenings. The stars are brilliant and seem close enough to touch (and I’m pretty sure some of them dance, Lydia). Midday is sunny and bright, giving you a chance to warm up before my favorite part of the day, the rainy afternoon. Our team name this month is Mrembo Mvua, which is Swahili for “beautiful rain”.
His faithfulness in my silly, sweet request for rain stirs depths in my spirit and grows my faith in Him, my understanding of His intimate nature, and my desire to know Him more. If God will pour out rain in every country, because I asked, because He loves me… what more can I, should I, be asking for? God's kids can come boldly before His thrown. We can ask for rain or a cold coke (Helena). He cares. We can ask for wisdom, discernment, restoration of relationships, physical and spiritual healing, salvation of nations, Heaven on Earth. He cares. We can sit on His shoulders for perspective, lean into His embrace for comfort, and look deep into His eyes…just to know Him more. And this changes what we care about and what we ask for. It's a pretty perfectly planned cycle, like the rain.
“So let us know, let us press on to know the Lord. His going forth is as certain as the dawn; and He will come to us like the rain, like the spring rain watering the earth.” Hosea 6:3
I always look forward to your encouraging blog comments, and I want to invite you to share a story of God’s goodness in your life. I’d love to read about it!
