The rain splattered and slid, tiny cold liquid jewels against the window. Their presence this morning echoed a moment a couple evenings ago, riding cramped in the backseat as a teen drove us to grab a bite to eat. The rain was harder then. The windows fogged. The car lurched over each bump, overburdened by the three adults in the back. This made her already jittery driving more sporadic.
"I'm a good driver!" she insisted. Then she slammed on her brakes. I'm confident she hadn't noticed the approaching stop. I half expected one of my fellow passengers to leap at the chance to escape and brave the inclement weather instead.
As we accelerated again, our impromptu chauffeur became philosophical. "I imagine rain as the earth washing away the manure of life." She, of course, did not use the word "manure" as she's prone to sling swear words like a pan of bacon spits grease. She attends high school, after all.
We made it home without incident. The rain had letup by then. This is Colorado.
Christ refers to rain as an example of God's grace poured out on everyone (Matthew 5:43-45). It's a reminder, in a way, of the one thing that can wash clean the mess we've made of ourselves. But it's His blood that washes us; it's His redemption that works with the wreckage around us.
So this morning, overcast and dreary, I watched the ran cling to the pane of glass shielding me from the storm. It's a good reminder that no matter how bad things were yesterday -- or five minutes ago -- His mercies are new every morning. Indeed, His grace is sufficient every moment.
May you rest in that that today.
Filmmaker, Writer, Pseudo-Dad