rainy

The weather in Austin for the week is a solid 45 degrees and its supposed to rain the whole week. I didn't think it was raining that badly so I left my dorm in a sweatshirt, leggings, and little rain boots. No umbrella, no rain jacket. Turns out, the rain was pretty heavy. My class started in fifteen minutes and the building was twenty minutes away.

Needless to say, I looked like a wet rat in bio and philosophy today, and when I sat down for lunch my friends thought I had showered. "No, this is from the rain." 

On top of that, Jim Bull's biology lecture was confusing as heck and our the subject of our philosophy lecture was absolutely preposterous. I also had a class at 3:30, but my intended thirty-minute nap at 12:30 didn't actually end until 3:45. Convenient, right?

A weird phrase that people throw around these days is "it be's like that sometimes" and, well, for me- it be's like that today.

My most memorable encounter with rain happened in the summer of 2015. I was at Kamp and we were camping- like full on sleeping under the stars, cooking food in the fire, bathing in the lake typa stuff. (They call it trip at Kanakuk.) So on trip, you have three choices for sleeping arrangements:
1) The tents- uncomfortable, stuffy, "mattresses" on a hard-wood surface, made for three people to sleep comfortably, but with enough room for a fourth if need be(on an ideal trip these tents are used only for changing clothes)
2) The beach- not actually the beach, pebble shore of Tablerock Lake, light lake breeze, optimal for star-gazing but still not the most comfortable
3) Enos- on the shore with a breeze from the lake, cozy in parachute fabric of hammocks, double-stacked among the trees, usually all circled up with your best friends; Hammocking is undoubtedly the best way to sleep on trip

Unless it is raining. Which, unfortunately for Kabin 15, it was that night. Most of us decided we were biiiig nature girls, though, and decided to tough it out until the storm passed. At this point, it was probably 11 and the storm was beginning to die down. We took a nap and then were awakened at midnight by the gentle patter of rain on our foreheads. By now, the beach girls had already sought solace in the tents, and many of the hammock crew decided to follow their lead. About seven of us were left in our cozy circle, determined to make it through the night. Once again, the rain took about a break, but upon its return half an hour later four more of my friends trudged up to the fabric shelters. If you're counting, there were now three of us, which is the minimum amount of people allowed to be together at any given time per Kanakuk rules. Just me, my best friend Mila, and our GOAT counselor Reb remained in our little hammock nook. At roughly two in the morning, the rain's steady torment became unbearable and I had to make the decision to tough it out or force my friends to make the trek to the polyester prisons at the top of the hill. I was completely soaked and knew that I would unfortunately not be able to attain any rest in my nest, so I shook my friends awake. Mila was disappointed but gracious. Reb was willing to do whatever it took for us to get sleep, so she followed without hesitation. we got to the clearing and soon realized that all the tents were full, besides the one that was attempting an all-nighter (no thanks, compadres). So we huddled into a tent filled with four of our nearly-asleep kabin mates. The tent, with its four people, was already over comfortable compacity, but they willingly made it work for us and we began to doze off.

That's when AL made her way into the tent. Anna Louise was always the life of the party, but on this night she realized that the all-nighter tent was too much even for her. So, she poked her head into our tent to ask if there was room. We unanimously decided that there was not, so she made herself comfortable. (At this point the three-person tent had eight people in it fighting for sleep.) Most of us complained about the intrusion as now we were literally packed in like sardines.

Then Reb spoke up. Every time, Reb talked, we listened- because she was wise, because she was hilarious and because she was, in fact, our authority figure. As our heads turned to look at her, we were stunned. Reb was not laying down because there was physically no room for her- instead, she was huddled in the corner of the tent in her green rainjacket- looking rather dinosauresque- and encouraging us to be positive because God is good and this memory would be great. Encouraging us to be positive because we were at kamp and with people we loved and doing crazy things. While was speaking, someone interrupted her- "Uhhh Reb- there's a spider crawling up the side of your jacket."

I'll never forget the look on Reb's face and the slight huff she exhaled as she calmly removed the creature. I'll never forget the laughter that ensued and how the rain, at that moment, was our great bond. I'll never forget that night and how the rain became something beautiful despite its initial feeling of imposition. I swore to never forget.

Today, though, I forgot. As I was trudging through the rain to my second class of the day, I was really feeling sorry for myself. Soaked to the bone,  freezing, late to class, and feeling the return of a sickness that ended yesterday after two weeks of coughing and congestion.

Halfway to the philosophy building, I stopped in my tracks, though. God grabbed a hold of me and reminded me something- I love rain. When I was four, rain didn't stop my soccer team- the dragonflies- from playing our game; instead, all the parents and coaches just held umbrellas over the field and watched as our already humorous attempt at soccer became even more silly. I'll never forget that day. Rain at my Chilton house as a kid meant rubber ducky races with Lucas and Jackson and Kate on the road by the curb. Rain, as I got older, meant movie marathons or binge-watching The Office. In the summer, rain meant relief. At Kamp, rain meant bonding- sitting in the cabin, playing hide-and-seek or silent football or cards or hosting an awards ceremony for Gabs and Phebs' botched Eco-challenge.  It meant Dinosaur Reb curled in the corner of the tent, giving us a pep talk while an adventurous arachnid climbed up the side of the hood. Since then, it has meant the game at Prince of Peace, where we cheered our hearts out in our big blue Pacman costumes and watched our boys having the time of their life playing football in the mud. It has meant all that and so much more.

Some of the sweetest moments of my life have been in the rain.

I don't always remember to love the rain, but today God reminded me.

We're called out into the world, and sometimes that might just mean you get to walk in the rain. Don't let it hinder you. Do remember to dress accordingly, though.

"For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever." 1 Corinthians 4:17-18

See past the rain, and into the way God may be using it for His glory. Because He does, and He will. He is Good.