Father of the rain,
make me clean and help me not to duck for shelter
but to embrace the cleansing.
Help me to love Your rain in all its forms:
the mist that comes almost imperceptibly
bringing such gentle moisture to shriveled cells
that even the most fragile are not damaged
but irrigated and enlivened.
the fog, even more gentle than the mist,
enfolding the dry spirit
in a thick comforter of refreshment.
the steady rain that sets in during the night
and continues all day,
soaking everything to the very taproots.
the deluge that continues to wash away accumulations of debris,
that overflows the dams men have constructed
that reroute the streams on their way to the sea.
And, Lord, help me to even embrace the storms
that shake me from my attachments,
that bend and test me;
they make me realize I am at Your mercy.
It was Your mercy that placed me here in the first place,
and it is by Your mercy that I survive.
Rain on me, Lord.
Come, sweet rain.
