Lluvia

Buenos días hermanas y hermanos; 

The word for rain in Spanish is lluvia, pronounced you-vee-ah. Whenever it rains, I am drawn back to my childhood where it seemed to rain often. In Mexico there are two seasons. The dry season and the rainy season. When we lived in the national park called El Desierto de los Leones, the rainy season was a magical time. Like clockwork, the storm clouds would begin gathering in the horizon at about 3 pm. By 4 pm the first low rumble of thunder could be heard. To me it sounded like a tiger prowling the forest in the distance. Then the rain would begin. A drop here, a drop there, and then the skies would open up. There were chimneys in almost every room in the house, and these were lit during most of the rainy season. I would sit by the fire and listen to the rain falling on the roof. It was not just magical, it was spiritual. The smell of the fire and the sound of the rain pelting the windows was comforting, affording a peace that was transcendent. And then the rain would suddenly stop. As a child I imagined God turning off a faucet . My favourite part of the rainy season was walking outside after a healthy rainfall. The national park was nestled in a eucalyptus forest, and as I would walk between the trees leaving behind soggy footprints, the air was perfumed with the various species of eucalyptus. I did not know it back then, but those were thin places where the veil between the earthly and the heavenly is almost translucent. I could have reached out and touched the hand of God. I would come back from those walks absolutely soaking wet. And I would always return completely transformed. Communing with nature is communing with the divine. Those walks through a landscape heavy with raindrops, each one reflecting the splendour of God's creation, were like healing sessions that made me feel that I could draw in deeper breaths. 

It rained all night at Dunblane. We turned on the electric fireplace which is not really a good substitute for the massive stone fireplaces that burned brightly in El Desierto de Los Leones. But it sufficed. The sound of the lluvia hitting the roof was indeed like a healing balm for the soul. A divine lullabye leading to a soporific state. No need to count sheep. 

As dawn broke, the rain stopped. I took Frijolito for a walk through the wild meadow and beyond. All the trees and shrubs were loaded down with billions and billions of raindrops. Every single blade of grass, every single leaf, every spider web was like a perfect work of art, shimmering in the gathering light. I had walked through a time portal, back to simpler times. I stopped to take a picture of a leaf that was adorned with raindrops. And I thought about one of my favourite poets, Robert Frost and what he wrote about rain. I leave you with this brief poem entitled 

         Lodged

The rain to the wind said,

"You push and I'll pelt."

They so smote the garden bed.

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged -- though not dead.

I know how they felt. 

     -Robert Frost

May you have a pleasant day and may the Holy Spirit fill your hearts with hope and joy. 

Homework: What do you like about rain? 

Let us pray 

The night has passed and the day lies open before us; let us pray with one heart and mind . As we rejoice in the gift of this new day, so may the light of your presence, O God, set our hearts on fire with love for you. 

Romans 12

Que Diosito me los colme de bendiciones y alegría

Paz 

I love you 

John 

We are not alone