I rush inside the house

to get out of the rain

only to run upstairs

to shower.

Why is one wetness

more preferable than the other?

Maybe because I choose it,

control it.

I hate the rain.

I forget that

it has often been

a sign of God’s

love for me.

I was 13

and about to take

my first

(and only)

Akido test.

The drops began to

hit the tin roof

of the dojo

just before my turn

like a soothing promise

that everything

would be okay.

I was in college

and on a road trip

with friends,

feeling alone,

having a panic attack.

I lowered the car window

to feel

the gentle touch of God.

Countless are the times

that soft rains

have kissed my skin

just when I needed it.

And yet,

when I look outside

and see gray skies

and have forgotten

my umbrella

and my coat,

I do not feel

safe and comforted,

held in the arms of something greater

than myself

and my problems.

Instead, I feel frustration.

Many are God’s gifts

and many I ignore.