My Utah friends won't understand, really, because they've never experienced Texas rainstorms. But my Southern friends know what I mean. Rainstorms are beautiful and kind of miraculous. The idea that water can magically convert to clouds and then again become water as it falls from the sky is so fascinating. Here I was, walking across campus, looking up at the sky in wonder and awe, recalling my true thoughts about rain.
About two months ago, I was having the absolute worst of days. I had never felt so homesick and I just wanted to catch the next plane to Texas and get away from my life. Deep down I realized that running away from my problems was not the way to make things better, but I wanted to pretend that everything was better in Texas and that leaving would make me happier.
As I walked to campus that day, I thought about all the things I loved about Texas, and after making a rather lengthy list I realized I missed real rainstorms. In a desperate prayer, I remember looking up at the sky, wishing it would rain.
And then it began to rain. I started to cry a little bit, so grateful that my Father in Heaven had heard my plea and recognized how much a rainstorm would mean to me. I got to class late, soaking wet, and grinning from ear to ear. My peers around me complained about how inconvenient the storm had been, ruining their hair, making them late, destroying their projects. But it didn't matter, because all I could think about was that the rain meant that God loved me.
Since that afternoon, I've come to love the rain even more. Provo is in the desert, so it doesn't rain that often, but the few times it has sprinkled even a little bit, I just smile and keep it as my own personal reminder that God hasn't forgotten me.
And oh, how I love the rain!
That's all.
