Rain! whose soft architectural hands
have power to cut stones, and
chisel to shapes of grandeur the very mountains.
~Henry Ward Beecher
Each drop of rain is a powerful miracle, a miracle that falls between heaven and earth as it travels vast distances around earth’s surface. It speaks so loudly of holiness that whenever it appears here, it never fails to draw me to itself. Perhaps because somewhere in my memory’s oldest and deepest recesses there’s a vague in-utero recollection of the soothing nature of a watery beginning, a remembrance of a sacred mothering source. When the first drops of rain hit the ground, especially after a long absence, they fall on my ears not unlike the chords of a beloved’s voice. And after the rain, when the smell of wet soil and damp grass greet my nose, I “weep for gladness.” The deliciousness of its return prompts the same urges I experienced in childhood. What fun it would have been to have played in the rain and danced with wanton delight in the sloshy puddles beneath my feet had mom not forbid it.
All the water earth will ever have was granted us at the beginning of time. In whatever form it falls to earth, be it rain, fog, frost, snow, or sleet, water is part of a divinely designed cycle to insure Creation’s continuance. The holy water-bearers bring the stuff without which there is no life for it is the substance in which life is formed and the substance of which life is sustained. As a part of the grand and holy design, falling waters move in never-ending circles to kiss the earth and return to the clouds. Given that I can’t help but wonder how far each drop of moisture has traveled throughout the eons of time. One thing of which I’m always certain though is that rain’s “soft architectural hands” were made by the soft Hands of He who made the earth and us.
I will send you rain in its season, and the ground will yield its crops and the trees their fruit. Leviticus 26: 4 ✝