Dancing in the Rain

The rain pounded on the roof over me as I lay awake in bed. The crash of thunder roared and the winds screamed in protest. I sighed and rose to the window, leaning my forehead against the cool glass. Most of the time I enjoyed storms immensely. I loved their wild, passionate freedom. Tonight, however, the tears on my face raced down my cheeks to match the drops drizzling down my windowpane.

He was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing but sit quietly and grieve. I always thought that helplessness was the worst feeling in the world. I smiled softly. Come to think of it, so did he. As I watched the rain, I thought of him. And remembered.

* * *

"Dance?" Patrick asked incredulously. "That's how you praise God?" I grinned. "I don't just dance. I dance in the rain." Patrick looked at me over his bible, his green eyes amused now, and only a little shocked. I loved his eyes. I loved his sense of humor. I loved that he was my best friend on the planet. But what had caused me to fall for him was his complete and utter devotion to Christ.

"Hmmm," he said. I raised a brow. "What? What's wrong with that? I've always loved the rain--the feel of it, the sound. And the smell. Nothing is better than the smell of rain."

He thought a moment. "Alright, I can see your point there. But why dance? Why not sing, or walk, or even sit? You're not the biggest dancer in the world."

This was true. And he was teasing me again, like he always did. It was a pattern I had grown up with, and eventually grown to enjoy. I smiled at him, considering. "There's just something about it. Whirling around, jumping in puddles.... it's wonderful. Very liberating. You really should try it sometime."

He laughed. "Right. I'll have to go dancing in the rain with you."

I grinned mischeiviously. "That's right. I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

He gave me a look that never failed to make my heart flutter, then smiled. "I'm counting on it. Maybe we'll get married in the rain."

We had listened to all the warnings concerning young love and how it fades. We knew the statistics of the divorce rates in marriages with teenagers. We considered all of that, and prayed constantly, together and separately, for God's will on the matter. He wanted us to get married. That was that.

Or so we thought.

It was three months later when I received the call. Patrick had gotten in a car wreck, a bad one. He didn't survive.

I was struggling so hard with doubts of my faith. My raw emotions tore at me, draining me. I prayed, demanded, yelled, cried, anything I could think of to get an answer from God. But still, there was this feeling of utter helplessness and pain. There was nothing I could do. Nothing, I thought. "Lord, oh, Lord, what should I do?" I said softly.

I stared into the rain for awhile longer. Slowly, very slowly, a smile touched my lips. I left my room and walked down the stairs to the front door. I opened it and embraced the howling winds and the cold drops that stung my skin.

I ran outside and began to dance.