This morning, sitting at the coffee bar, sipping hot green tea, and savoring every bite of lemon lavender pound cake ( at a favorite neighborhood bakery–Heirloom Bakery & Hearth), it is pouring down rain outside. Some great 60s era music is playing and I am feeling remarkably tranquil. I am reading a great book (Outlaw Christian ) published recently by a young theologian ( @JacquelinBussie ) I met at a conference at the University of Virginia years ago. I am aware suddenly of a mysterious peacefulness filling me. I feel surrounded by the peace of God, embraced in God’s infinite capacity for love (quite the opposite of the hopelessness I wrote of a few blogs back). I am startled to attentiveness. What is this? My eyes wander over the room wondering what changed, what brings this presence of God? Then I realize it is aural not visual. The rain is pounding on the metal roof!
Years ago, while my dad was in Vietnam and I knew my life could change in an instant, the only time I felt safe was at my grandparents’ home, late at night, tucked in bed, and the rain beating on the uninsulated tin roof above me. Alone, in the dark, under a pile of handmade quilts, the rhythm of the rain pounding on the roof somehow made me know God knew my fear and was with me always. I can’t explain it; but, I knew it.
This morning, amidst the occasional clap of thunder and the rain beating its rhythm on the metal roof, me and 14 year-old me shared a moment. And God was there. And I felt safe, and peaceful, and loved.