Grace Like Rain

Tiny pink cherry blossoms drifted slowly onto the path, swirling on their descent, a snow day in spring. A gentle breeze kissed my cheeks, the nape of my neck, my bare hands. Continuing on my way, I heard the pounding of a basketball, shouts of glee from small children on the playground, an airplane crossing overhead. Birds chatted together, their music threading through the air, an aerial choir. I stooped down to pluck a dandelion weed, brought the round fluffy circle to my mouth, blew a wish. Ordinary happenings, nothing super-cool or earth shattering. I searched the sky, the gray clouds pregnant with rain and flipped my red hood up to cover my head. I continued strolling, careful not to tax the back, exchanged a greeting with an older couple who were sitting on a bench. Drops of rain moistened the pastel petals on the ground. The lenses on my glasses grew wetter with each droplet. I often find God hidden in the ordinary, the simple pleasures of life. He must enjoy watching us pause to appreciate, to admire. Before heading home, my gaze scanned the scene one last time, the images a bit blurred through my glasses. This is the way it is, I thought that day. For I discovered once again, a love so magnificent that it snuck through the back door of my pain, broadening the path beneath my feet, lighting my steps, in yet again a most elemental way.