I awoke to the sound of a storm pounding the windows and skylights so I lit a candle and watched the sky teeming with raindrops. Again and again, the gusts of wind angrily thrashed around. It was a successful rainstorm, if a label like that can be used. Through a complicated series of environmental factors, its only intent was to lighten its load and I was in its path.
Storms are teachers. It takes from us and gives to us and challenges us to learn. Sometimes what we have built is unmercifully torn from our grasp, and we are spared to learn humility as we rebuild. Storms are saviors, too, filling our lakes and watering our crops. Without it, we would not survive. Sometimes it slides in gently as a whisper with a rainbow for dessert. Sometimes it hits with a thunderous roar that makes us run for cover. It gives us a chance to dance in the puddles and carries us down a swollen river in a terrifying ride.
The teacup warms my palm in the dawn light and I feel the blanket tucked around my feet. I think how unaccustomed it is to feel the sensation of being brought to heel. Rainstorms are beautiful to enjoy by a fire but not so if you are standing wet and alone. Where we are in our lives defines what we learn.
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