73 Degrees. 2:19 AM. March 16, 2012 [List that as proof of the end of the world, y’all]. Thunder. Lightning. Rain.
What does this collection of events lead to? An absolutely ecstatic Rachel, sitting in her lofted bed, anticipating a beautiful storm. Oh, and clearly not sleeping. Oops.
Back that up, subtract ten years and keep everything else the same, and you’d have a 9 year old Rachel, absolutely terrified, crying in her parent’s bed, praying the storm would end. My, how things change.
Now, I’m pretty sure damn near every little kid has some sort of fear of storms. But I, oh, I took it to the extremes. At even the slightest rain fall I went into a panic, grabbing water bottles, canned food, flash lights, blankets and a radio, I would turn off the computers and the televisions and force my family to camp out in the basement with me while I cried. Countless times I would wake my parents up because it was raining and I was petrified (You know, from this whole blogging thing, I’ve realized that I was not a normal child).
As I got older, I progressed into being able to stay in my own bed, under the covers, crying. I didn’t need my parent’s to save me. Now, I still believed in the end of the world, but someone had introduced the 2012 theory to me, so I wasn’t all that afraid of a storm ending my life just yet. And then, one night, I remember I woke up to a storm. Only this time, I wasn’t afraid, I was intrigued. I watched it intently all night, the sky lighting up brilliantly, ablaze in purples, reds and other hues of lightning, the thunder soothing me instead of threatening me.
And now, I love most about summer, the rain storms. I’m content to stand in the rain, watch the sky filled with nature’s glory and in awe of God’s wonder. A good thunderstorm is so cleansing. The heat of the day combining with the coolness of the water hitting your flesh, washing everything away — it is the most indescribable feeling.
And as time tends to happen, the year 2012 finally rolled around. And being an avid believer in the end of the world, and maybe a bit of a history channel geek, having seen all of the documentaries, I fully prepared for the end of the world. Feel free to say: “Rachel told me so” when it happens, because, I did.
Here’s the ironic thing though. I don’t fear storms at all anymore. And if they bring about the end of the world, so be it. I wouldn’t mind going out in a blaze of God’s brilliant, awe-inspiring terror. So, I say, bring on the rain, 2012, and abandon my childish fears. After all, if the world’s ending, why live in fear when you could celebrate it?
So I think, instead of studying or sleeping or showering or doing anything productive for the class I have in seven hours, that I just might go dance in the storm. After all, life’s not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain. Or so a hallmark card might say.