Tonight I sit on my third floor patio and I watch the rain. I love rain. I always have. I don’t know what it is about rain. It’s soothing, melodic and cozy.
I read somewhere that our associations with rain as a source of comfort have to do with a subconscious memory of the womb. I wish I was boujee enough to believe that. It sure is a beautiful thought. But I have to admit, I can barely remember what happened last week, much less when I was in utero.
It’s almost dusk now. I prop my feet up on the table, sip my coffee and listen to the storm. I let it inside my soul and it feels cathartic. I can feel something moving inside my soul. Things that were wrong, start slowly drifting back into place.
Yeah, it’s been a tough year so far.
The first few months have been wrought with fighting, and anger and fear and every shade in between. It’s been a struggle to get it right, and to make things in my life work. If I’m honest, the first quarter of 2020 has been some of the hardest times I’ve had in my life.
There have been times in the last several months where things have been so bad, that I questioned God. I knew he had the power to fix the things that were so terribly wrong in my life. And in fact, he was the only one that could fix them.
But for some reason, he wouldn’t.
I didn’t understand why the God who could do everything, suddenly wouldn’t do anything, when I was straight up begging for help. I thought I was important to him. Loved by him. I had all of these beautiful Scriptures and personal heart revelations about being a princess, a daughter of the king.
I was that noble writer from Psalm 45–the elegant king’s daughter, all dressed in myrrh and cassia, and a gown interwoven with gold all glorious within her chamber. That was MY life scripture. The one that gave me stability and identity.
And here I was in desperate need of a miracle that only God could give. I was a daughter of the king. Couldn’t I just sashay up to him in my gauzy robes and clinking jewelry and casually ask for help, like a Beverly Hills princess asks for a credit card?
It didn’t work on God. God isn’t some millionaire film mogul with a soft spot for the feminine side. I guess I didn’t understand that.
The rain. Mighty rushing rain.
The answers have slowly come in time, mainly in small revelations of God’s grace. It’s not all about me. It’s about others too. God isn’t just concerned about my welfare. Sometimes he asks us to trust him, while he works something out with someone else.
Do I trust God that much?
I thought I did. But these months have shown me how much I don’t trust him. That I need the “what” and the “why” to trust him. I still don’t have it all figured out what God was doing during that time. I have small glimpses. I have a lot of theories. But, I don’t have anywhere near the whole picture.
But, the real question is–if I truly trust God, do I need the whole picture? That’s a loaded question. I wish my responses, my answers, were better. More acceptable. More spiritual. But they aren’t. They are wrought with qualifications. I can only trust God so far. I can only trust God if it makes sense. I can only trust God if it fits with my theology.
The rain is harder now, pounding the pavement and cleansing the rooftops with long, defiant blasts.
And I can feel the rain wash all of this away, guilt, self-doubt, anger, disappointment, fear…like God’s infinite grace poured out. And then it pounds on, and doesn’t stop there. Sweet renewal. Slow, thorough cleaning. And with morning light, it will be a new day.
Tranquility.
In the rhythm, I can hear the still small voice of God. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be better than okay.
Maybe it’s time to let it all go.
New.
I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know where I’m going or why. But, now, there is a gentle stir of excitement. The dirt is washed away. Now there is the promise of new life.
So, I sit and bask in the joy of new life, God’s new promise. And I remember that God has brought me here to give me rest. A calm.
It’s been a tough year, and now, there will be peace. Now there will newness. Now, where there was death, there will life. Where there was sowing, there will be reaping. Where there were tears, there will be joy.
thevagrantwriter.com 
Hello Layla,
I came across your blog on FreelancerFAQs contributors page.
I am always drawn to blog posts about “rain”. There is something so peaceful and renewing about rain. I really enjoyed this blog post. You painted a picture with your words and it really drew me in right off the bat.
I especially liked how you compared the rain to God pouring out His infinite grace.
Personally, I can relate to how you are feeling in this blog. Sometimes it is so hard when it feels like God is not listening to you or answering your prayers. God is always working, though, behind the scenes.
Thank you for sharing!
Take care,
Amy Ruble
Mental Health Blogger & Freelance Writer
Thank you for your reply, Amy. I wrote this post just weeks into the pandemic. My apartment lease ended in April 2020–the dead-middle of quarantine, and my job was shut down as well.
With no money coming in, and the original CARES Act just a vague politician’s war, it just wasn’t sensible to renew the lease. So, I ended up leaving the apartment to stay on someone’s couch for a time.
I wrote this during the last couple of days on the lease, sitting on my beloved patio, quarantined in an empty apartment. I had already moved everything to storage, so all I had was an air mattress and a suitcase full of clothes, while I held on to those final hours.
(As a side note, though, sitting alone in an empty apartment, with nothing but a laptop and an air mattress–man, it felt like everything being a writer should be! )
In the post-script, within six months time, I ended up getting a much better job, and an infinitely better apartment.
But, this post reflects the uncertainty at that time.
Thank you for bringing it back to my memory today. It was a meaningful trip down memory lane, to reflect on what God has done in my life.