I love to dance in the rain. Unlike the iconic scenes of Hollywood, I clomp about to my heart's content - no choreography or classic cantatas here. That being said, my favorite indulgence happens late at night, when no one is looking! The feel of the cool, refreshing drops cascading through my hair, the shocking splash of puddles around my bare feet – escapades that have surely caused more than one bout of a cold in my life.
This quirky indulgence was (formerly) known only to those closest to me. Once upon a slumber party, when I was still small, this passion unleashed with fervor. All the neighborhood kids gathered in our oversized, inner city yard, basking in full glory and stomping muddy feet. We danced and pranced in a huge puddle formed by the sunken concrete around an ancient maple tree. To our heart’s delight, the moon was out, and I am sure that our group of small, wild children resembled a pagan ritual.
Such simple pleasure has endured well beyond my age of innocence; by now I've spun many soggy circles with my children. I relish memorable moments together! But how often I have slipped out to slosh about in a spring shower - while they remain fast asleep, unaware of their mother's secret revelry. And so, raindancing has become a nearly instinctive reflex, an innate hunger that grows with the low rumble of an oncoming storm.
In spite of the lingering childhood echo of my mom’s voice bidding me to come inside, I delay for another spin even as flashes of lightning draw near. I sense the closeness of my heavenly Father in the soothing roll of thunder. Peace envelops me with the sound of raindrops tickling the pavement. I smile with reckless abandon, jumping here and singing there with arms open wide and face lifted skyward.
Why?
Maybe I thrive on the reckless thrill of facing nature head on. Maybe the majestic power of storms evoke a holy and reverent fear in my fragile mortal soul. It could be all of these, coupled with the uninhibited joy of muddy ankles and sopping wet hair. I realize sharing this evokes stereotypical images of trance-inducing chanting and drumming in circles. Don't be mistaken, my raindancing is not the aimless obsession of a madwoman.
Time and time again, I have found God speaks to me in storms. There is something so natural, so inherently spiritual, about rain: the soft noise of raindrops blanketing the pavement, the jagged flashes of light searing across the darkened sky, the pealing boom of magnificent thunder as it rolls off the horizon... I cherish these rare, raw moments I have with my Heavenly Papi. Without fail, it leads me back to a simpler time: one of childlike faith.
Especially as Christians, life becomes too complex, ritualistic, stuffy and safe! Sometimes we need to just cast our cares aside, and take it to the streets. That is partly why I am starting this blog, an exercise of creative freedom in Christ. I invite you to join me! Which type of RAINdancer will you be?
Pick one that inspires you and let us know in the comments! Or post your own to social media, just be sure to keep it clean and #raindancer2016. However that works, lol! Know you are loved and covered in prayer.
P.S. To get an idea of what I personally look like in the rain, this is on point:
