As I type, we’re on a road trip. Heading home after dropping our son at college in the south. First time for everything. I’ll fill you in more on that later. The air’s been soupy, hot and muggy this week and I’ve found myself wishing for a soft spring rain. A soft summer rain would be fine too. Enjoy this piece I wrote several springs ago.

Today’s been beautiful in so many ways, and I’m not just talkin’ weather. You know what we say in New England: if you don’t like the weather, wait an hour. Works in reverse too. (Bleh.)

Soft Spring Rain

The sky dawned blue-eyed, crystal clear this morning. Fresh, spring-like. Low forties feels like summer after what we’ve endured this past winter. A strange week weather-wise, that’s for sure. Started with snow early on, graduated to hail mid-week. Then bright, sunny and clear this morning.

Hudson and I head to music therapy mid-morning. (Hudson, our little boy with Down syndrome.) He’s faithfully, energetically practiced his lion roar about six months now.

An old Rich Mullins CD quietly plays. The lyrics: “and the children keep learning, how to grow up big and strong, how to grow up big and strong.” And Hudson, he “sings”, growls along. Barely squeezes in the last syllable of each phrase. Roars out the “ig” and the “ong” right on cue. Love this little boy.

Slowly making his way in this world, learning to grow up big and strong. His way, his time-table.

“Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

-A.A.Milne

I love that quote.

Later he heads out on the bus to afternoon pre-school. By now the sky’s dark, overcast. Ominous and foreboding. I stack toys, wash dishes, then head out to pick up boys from school.

It’s pouring a Soft Spring Rain now. Haven’t seen, felt rain in months. Snow only. (Snow, snow and more snow.) Almost forgot what a spring rain feels like. Fresh. So much water coming down. And so soft.

I think of that little kid in the spring rain. Donning the rain boots, rain slicker. Heading out alone. Excited. Nearly quivering. Me. To the winding gravel driveway.

Finding that long stick. Digging the shallow paths, converging and diverging paths in the dirt. Manufacturing streams and rivers, canals and moats. Lakes and oceans. The water moving. Constantly moving, mesmerizing.

Like staring into flames. Always changing, ever the same. Cozy. Dry. Feeling that delicious rain beat through the slicker.

Oh for a stick, a gravel driveway, a yellow slicker, shiny red rain boots.

Grabbing the umbrella, I pick up Charlie first. Doesn’t want space under the canopy. He wants wet. (Boys.)  On to the next school for Hudson. We arrive early, wait the few minutes in the car.

I look up. Straight up. Overcast, smoky gray sunroof canvas. Rain beats, straight down. Droplets join droplets, collect. Form rivulets.

Charlie, he watches too. Mesmerized. The beads, they collect, grow, attract one another, join other larger rolling beads. Wander off. New ones form. So mesmerizing, riveting. Like flames.

Hudson, he comes out of school baffled by the rain. He’s forgotten what rain feels like, but so happy to join me under the umbrella. We snuggle in close, buckle up then drive home.

Parked in the driveway, we stare skyward again. Oak branches tower, beads collect. A thousand magnifying glasses, prisms.

Rain drops, they fall relentlessly. Surface tensions break, bead by bead. We could sit here for hours, not move a muscle. I whisper that aloud.

Five minutes later the phone vibrates. Jolts me back to reality. I slowly remove the key, collect the backpacks.

“But you said we’d sit here for hours,” says Charlie. (My literalist.)

I said we could. And truly, I’d love that.

That, and a stick, a gravel driveway, a yellow slicker, shiny red rain boots.

(P.S. Snow forecasted this week.)

You may also enjoy: They Didn’t Know

The post Soft Spring Rain appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

Thursday a week ago was such an amazing miracle-filled day all around. I had absolutely no idea when I woke up that morning what the day would hold. Guess we never know what a day holds.

Glimpse of Sunshine: Part 2 by allie taylor

Remember that Thursday? It was the day Hudson clearly said hello to the nice lady in black and I was left speechless. (Rare.) If you missed that Glimpse of Sunshine post last week, catch up here first:  Glimpse of Sunshine  so you’ll understand today’s post.

So after music therapy that day, I gave Hudson lunch, brought him to school. Came home and penned Glimpse of Sunshine at the kitchen counter, while it was still fresh in my mind. Charlie’s the little artist of the family, so I was thinking, I really need to ask Charlie to draw me a sun. That would be just perfect for my post. Time flew, and in no time at all it was time to go pick up Charlie from 3rd grade. He got in the car, had a burning question on his mind.

“Mom, why do you think instead of just giving us the sun, moon and stars, God gave us the planets too?”

Me: “Maybe He just wanted to wow us, you know, so we’d look up at them and think wow, what an amazing God we have. That he could just hang them up there.”

Charlie: “But the thing is, evolutionists look at the planets too, and they don’t say that.”

Me: “You got a point there.”

Charlie: “When I get home, I’m going to write an encyclopedia.”

Me: “Wow, that’s enterprising. What will you put in it?”

Charlie: “Words that mean something.”

Me: “So what’s your first word gonna be?”

Charlie: “Evolution.”

Me: “That’s an interesting word to start an encyclopedia with. Do you believe in evolution?”

Charlie: “No.”

So we pick up Hudson from school, get home, hot chocolate at the kitchen counter, etc. And Charlie starts his encyclopedia. True to his word, begins with the first entry, evolution.

Oops, the encyclopedia got wet…

I’m sitting at the counter, tweaking my post. I see Charlie over at the kitchen window. I can’t see what he’s drawing, but I can tell he’s drawing on the window with a yellow waxy window crayon.

He got the window crayons a few years ago, hasn’t used them in a long time. He steps aside, and I see this beautiful sun.

Me, with chills: “Charlie, why did you draw that sun today?”

Charlie: “I don’t know.”

And so I tell Charlie the story of Hudson saying hello to the lady in black this morning. And how beautiful it was, like a glimpse of sunshine. That it was a little miracle. And how I was going to ask him to draw a sun for me, but hadn’t yet because he was so busy with his encyclopedia.

Charlie’s so excited about Hudson’s word, he races out to the living room to find Hudson.

Charlie: “Hudson, Hudson can you say hello to me? Hel-lo? Hel-lo?”

And Hudson obliges, clearly says a halting “hel-lo” again.

Charlie, back in the kitchen, beaming:

“Guess it wasn’t a coincidence that I drew the sun on the window today, was it?”

Big hug. No Charlie, it wasn’t.

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

– Albert Einstein

Related post:

She Picked Up Her Pen

And: Shut Up and Listen

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The post Glimpse of Sunshine: Part 2 appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.