I like to hear the rain.
The slow the steady the pit and
pat the spit on that sound
on pavement and rooftops.
Like snow it slows
things down, the birds get quiet,
no bugs to buzz, just sit beside me
and see me under the awning.
For the sky to open
the thunder to roar the light show
that I know God is capable of.
But the fruit of the spirit is patience
so patiently I wait for the show
of force of power of creativity control
over the world that surrounds us
and shapes us and holds us and keeps
us afloat in spite of ourselves.
And in the waiting
I have a job I’ve always had.
That doesn’t pause for rain.
That calls me just the same out
from behind my mask of excuses and defenses:
Love God. Love others.
That is your purpose.
In the waiting.
In the doing.
In the raining.
In the sun.
In the anger.
In the freedom.
It’s your job.
You’re the one.