Rainy Seasons

The government announces the change of season here in Thailand. It’s a small phenomenon that I find funny. Someone important and sciency makes a statement on TV and it becomes breaking news on my Facebook newsfeed for only a day. I’m not sure how the government decides it’s a new season. There’s only three of them and they have very similar characteristics. My Thai friends make a joke that the three seasons are hot, hotter and hottest. At any rate, it’s now rainy season and it’s “hotter.”

The rain comes fast and hard. The large drops on our tin roof remind me of the Jiffy Pop popcorn you can make on the stove. It’s soothing, deafening and gives me an odd sense of protection. I like to stand on the porch and feel the mist on my face, but, just inside that invisible barrier created by the eaves of the house which protect me from the onslaught. I can stay as dry as I’d like, but also feel the cool and observe the power of the storm.

The wind quickly whips away the storm. Leaves on the bushes droop from the pounding and every crack and dip in the pavement are now deep, black mirrors. The sun rages again and for a moment, the yellows are golden, the greens become alive and the flowers glow. You take deep gulps of the oxygen that you can actually smell in the air. Then, the streets turn dusty and the magic fades.

I’d like to experience suffering like this. Someone announces its coming. Then, I can stand and watch it from a protected place experiencing only as much of it as I’d like. I’d like to watch its power wash away the dust and grime and soften the hard, unwilling ground from a perch on the porch. When it’s over there’s a magic moment of peace and beauty.

But, this isn’t how suffering comes. There’s no sciency, charismatic persona to announce its arrival. And there’s no safe place to watch it soften and wash the grime from everything around us. It comes for us and the hard places in us. Sometimes, there’s no transcendent moment of clean beauty after it. No, we’re the leaves and the pavement that have been pounded and are now drenched and drooping.

Difficulties came for me this week in the form of sickness, canceled plans, loneliness, heartbreaking injustice, watching friends have their hopeful plans dashed, other friends’ livelihood is threatened and others have had their needs pushed aside for no reason by good people. My heart is hurting and my hope washed away.

I don’t see an end to the storm. None of these things have easy fixes. The injustice feels eternal. So, I have cried along with the rain. My heart has moaned and screamed with the wind. And I have hoped that when my tears were gone, the rain would be too.

At one point in my life, I would’ve called all this a lack of faith that needed repenting. I would’ve labeled the despair as sin and the crying out to God as complaining. I’d dab my eyes before they were wet with some Christian platitude so that I wouldn’t actually feel the pain. I’d thank God for it all, submit and my gratitude and obedience would be all that’s needed. And then I’d call that “peace.” God’s actual presence wasn’t really needed.

Now, I desperately need Jesus’s presence right here.

Pouring out my heart to Him means that I share my real feelings in all their messy glory. And He’s here.

Abiding in Him means that I invite Him into all of these painful and joyful places without reservations. And I join His heart in all the aching and joyful places too. And He’s here.

Being sanctified and perfected means that I cry ugly tears in His presence and I dance undignified there too. And He’s here.

The more time I spend in God’s presence, the more all of His goodness rubs off on me and transforms me. Then, I am also able to enter the sorrow and the joy of other people without dismissing their experiences and feelings.

But, all of this means that I must bravely feel the pain knowing that Jesus stands in the rain with me, sharing it and giving me more of His heart.