This morning I looked out the window into a fresh new day and saw the evidence of all the rain on the weekend. Roofs washed clean, the grass already looking greener and the plants standing up tall. And the sun is shining.

The clouds had been large on Friday evening as my granddaughters and I planted the vegetable plants and seeds in our garden, but even then the sun shone through and around those clouds. We had a few reminders that rain was on its way. Farmers needed the rain for their newly planted grain and corn, and we needed it in the city too, for our parks, lawns and gardens were dry and brown.

I was at the garden centre on Saturday morning when the clouds broke loose. I’d collected my plants in a cart and was paying for them when the rain suddenly came down. We looked out and there it was, the rain that would make our gardens grow and the flowers bloom. I felt more than heard the collective sigh of relief from all the gardeners in that place. About then I spied two ladies from our Maranatha sister congregation, hurrying by under the tent and caught their attention. The joy in their faces was exactly what I felt. They too are gardeners; they too know the necessity of water.

I heard it said on the radio this weekend that we can live longer without food than we can without water, the very thing that makes up so much of our bodies. Deprive them of water and we suffer.

Back to the rain. There was a slight break in the downpour, so I dashed to the car, pushing the buggy full of plants, and deposited the plants in the trunk. The rain wasn’t letting up and that was a good thing, even if I was getting a bit wet as I returned the cart.

With the air conditioning still on in the car, my slightly damp clothing made me feel chilly, so I turned the air off and started the car, got the windshield wipers going. Slap, slop, slap. The rain was pouring harder again. I carefully backed out of my spot and on to another store in the same large shopping area. It was cool in there too, but I wasn’t going to complain and mentioned to another shopper how much we needed what was coming down. Thank you, Lord, for the rain.

If the sky was any indication, there was plenty more to come. And it happened, all through the rest of that day, the night, and into Sunday. A good day for napping, reading, and calling a friend on the telephone.

It was early evening when it seemed safe to venture out on a walk, without getting a soaking. More rain than we desired? To some it might seem so, for it would change plans that people had for recreation for picnics, boating and being outdoors. On my walk I saw several people walking their dogs, who also seemed happy to be out of doors.

On my return, I checked my newly planted garden. Instead of spotty places where my granddaughters watered the new plants on Friday evening, the soil was now uniformly wet, and the plants were standing up taller, as though they were saying thank you. In my Sunday afternoon phone call to a friend, she said she heard the grass singing. I chuckled at the analogy, for if grass could sing, it would truly be celebrating.

There was something more to that thought— more than we desired. If it happens with rain, when it comes as we need it, then keeps on coming past the point of where we say “enough already,” what about our blessings from God? When we’ve gotten what we asked for and there’s still more coming, do we still say “enough already” or “Thank you, God,” like we mean it?

My daughter sent a photo from their trailer last evening, with the bright rainbow against a darkening sky. What a sight to behold! If we had a rainbow, I missed it. A rainbow feels like a blessing after the storm.

Indeed I learned from friends on Facebook that there had been wind damage in some areas. One had a tree laying in her backyard that stood tall just moments before. Wind is a mighty thing and so can water be, when mixed together. And people have troubles. We see it in the news and around us. We hear calls for prayer, and trouble is often part of our lives too.

Sunshine and the rainbow after the rain is a welcome sight; it gives us a breather. It may be when we see our blessings more clearly too. Thank you, Lord. If the grass can sing, so can we.

Photo by Laura Shaw, by permission