Guest Blogger (Tara Banks)
So, I got an idea from a friend of mine that I thought I would roll with for a while and see what happens. The idea is to have a guest blogger on my site once a week, mainly on Wednesdays. The topic they will be discussing will either be a book review or a discussion on some experience they have had in life. I hope these guests will bless you.
For this week’s guest, I have asked for a poem that Tara Banks, who is Seacoast Church’s Mt. Pleasant worship leader, wrote. This poem is extremely powerful and I pray that God uses it to speak to you.
When it starts to rain…
As a child, I adored rainy days. My mother tells many stories of me and the rain, but my favorite is the one she tells of me falling asleep in a baby swing in the rain. I’m thinking that’s where it all started for me – i. just. love. it.
When I was in college, it would begin to rain and I would purposely set out on a walk through downtown. Soaked to the skin, car-bound travelers would ask if I wanted a ride – to which I would happily reply, “Why? It’s raining!”
Today it started to rain… literally and figuratively. It wasn’t one of those lovely light rains, it was a total downpour. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t remember loving it. I remember looking at the rain and resenting it falling. It was wet, it was cold, it was messy. Everywhere I looked was dark. Life that was vibrant was struggling to remain upright, what was organic was completely changing form to mud, deep puddles were forming, and quickly. All I wanted to do was get inside.
Ironically – this storm followed me in. Although I was watching it from the inside and was no longer feeling the sting of the torrent on my face – my heart began to well up – and I realized – i. just. hated. it.
How could something that had formerly brought me so much joy now bring me such
angst? The sleeping child in the swing woke up – and realized she was getting soaked. The college student, drenched, ran for cover. Everything in me wanted to look up at the sky and beg it to stop.
Reality is, I can’t function without rain. If there isn’t rain, there isn’t growth. If there aren’t puddles, there is no deep soaking. If what is organic isn’t beaten down, there is no glory to give Him when we recover and bloom and grow in a greater capacity.
It’s starting to rain again outside – – although my instinct is to run away, I’m going to try, with the abandon of a child, to run headlong into it – even if it means I forget my umbrella and put my shoes on the wrong feet – I’m going to throw open the door, run stumbling and sobbing to the front yard, throw back my head to Heaven, open my mouth and drink it in.
Come on Lord, let it rain