My love affair with a sound...

"Stop!" I commanded with my hand on Daran's arm for extra emphasis.  "Listen,"  I pleaded with my face full of anticipation.  "Do you hear it?" I prodded. We were in the car in front of our house on a very rare rainy day in Utah. I could tell by the look on his face, the euphoric feeling washing over me did not even splash on him. 

I believe I have an unnatural love of precipitation. I adore precipitation in any form. Yes, in any form. As a young girl, I would sit on our green front porch with my back propped up against the screen door and just absorb into the cells of my body the sound of rain drops pounding on the roof and pitter pattering on the soft ground. As if the world needed a drive through the car wash, and I was present to witness it. 

Of course, I live in as desert, and therefore when I am gifted with the sound of rain, I am a little over the top. Okay, a lot over the top. I pondered this the other day as I sat in the car and tried to absorb the sound of the rain so I could hold it in reserve for the dry days ahead. 

Maybe, it is a fantasy I have that God is giving the world a bath while diligently scrubbing behind our ears. We, of course, are the belligerent "I hate baths" child thrashing about under his firm hands. In the end, no matter the struggle, we emerge spotless wrapped in a fluffy white towel primed to get dirty again, but inordinately clean for the moment. 

Maybe in all the chaos, I just want all the problems and dirt to go away at least for a minute. Maybe I want a restart. Maybe I want an escape. Maybe I want a refuge. Or maybe, I'm digging too deep and I simply adore the sound of rain.