A loud clap of thunder greeted me as I closed the front door. I knew I would most likely get rained on during my walk, but I had to take my walk in the morning. Today I couldn’t walk in the afternoon, today I was on a schedule.

I made it to the end of the block, hung a left and was all the way to the top of Throw Up Hill (that’s what we call the next street over, it has a killer incline that makes you want to throw up if you walk it too fast or too many times in a row) before I felt the first raindrop. It was a big one, a scout to warn any who were on the street to take cover, that there were many more behind him. A few minutes later his friends had arrived.

I wasn’t worried about getting wet; I learned a long time ago that I don’t melt when it rains. But as I continued walking I decided I didn’t just want to get through this walk getting drenched. Something made me want to experience it, get fully engaged with the wetness. I thought about the Source of the rain, the Creator of the universe who allows the alignment of atmospheric conditions to bring forth rain or not, floods or drought, rain when there had never been any as in the days of Noah, or a steady soaking summer rain like the one I was in. All of it under God’s sovereign control whether I like it or not. I realized that the water I now felt on my skin was different than the water that comes out of my ‘rain’ shower-head; it was softer somehow, cleaner, pure.

In a no-outlet side street I noticed how God’s law of gravity pulled the rain down, down flowing alongside the curb until it reached the end of the concrete, some of it pooling in the corner, some of it freed to flow on into the grass and down an embankment to a creek bed where it rejoined other likeminded drops to form a running creek. Maybe minnows and worms would enjoy its warm softness or grandchildren would fish for crawdads in the shallow sides. Then I noticed how God’s law of gravity worked on my legs and lungs as I made my way back up the street.

By this time my T-shirt and I were one, the material plastered on like a second skin. Normally I don’t like the way that feels, but today it seemed fitting. Usually I would not delight in soaked socks, but today the squishy feeling inside my shoes was just part of the experience, the squashing sound as I walked becoming a rain song. As a child, who doesn’t love to play in the rain, splashing in the puddles and reveling in just being. I had some major puddles to splash in so I did, letting the water come up into my shoes and welcoming it. Water – life-giving, cleansing water. We come into the world with a gush of it, 65% of our body is made up of it, we quench our thirst with it, we cook and bathe with it, have recreation in it, we are baptized in it, and believers get to be Christ’s living water when we share the gospel.

As I slogged the rest of the way home, my steps were light even with the extra water weight of my shoes. Back at my front door I clumsily untied the wet laces, peeled off the socks and left them to dry. I’d chosen the time of my walk because of scheduling, but by the end of it I wasn’t even thinking about my schedule. I was thinking about the miracle of waking up a living, breathing, human being with the ability to move and think and reason and reflect on this life I’ve been given. Yes, I would go about my day guided by the clock but it wouldn’t be so much about the schedule any more. Time to get out and be living, loving water to others. With a different, drier pair of shoes of course.