I don't ever recall a stormy Easter. Every Resurrection Day memory I possess involves a cloudless blue sky, radiant with sunshine, declaring the glory of our risen King. My bones chill in memory of bright Easter mornings when the warmth of the shining sun did not quite radiate the atmosphere to my skin, but always the sun was there.
Today, for the first time in months, Oklahoma has once again experienced precipitation, and, even better, in liquid form (as opposed to the crystallized water we received at the beginning of February). And rain, even, that I don't remember seeing the likes of since the day Emmett wasn't born - the day we nearly swam home when released from the hospital after fourteen hours of labor which dwindled to nothing and a baby still inside. The day my dad pronounced our son would have had to be named Noah if he had, indeed, emerged into this downpour.
This day, however, this day near the end of April, ten months later, was not one of false hopes. Instead, these renewing rains gave new promise to the sun-scorched earth and a reminder that our risen Savior has washed us clean, soaking us deep in his blood poured out. And the life that remains may not be an endless parade of sunny days, but the storms are always for our refining and refreshment.
Thank you, Lord, for your Life rained down.