The Sun in the Rain
A couple of weeks ago, I had a unique experience. I was driving home from work when suddenly my windshield was pelted with rain. I turned on my windshield wipers, then bumped them up to a higher speed. It was raining hard!
The fact that it was raining wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that the view from my windshield--the only thing I could see-- was a bright sky, a huge white cloud with glints of golden sunlight on its edges. It was beautiful. It looked like an idyllic postcard scene, and the only thing marring the view were the raindrops falling on my car.
The juxtaposition of the two very opposite weather patterns was enough to catch my attention first, but I couldn't stop looking. I was mesmerized by that cloud. It was so beautiful, so clear, so sunny, so different from the rain clouds I was expecting to see. I found myself staring at it as I drove along without really knowing why.
When things capture my attention like that, I've learned it's best to lean into them and start asking myself why they've caught me. It wasn't long before I had my answer. The scene reminded me a lot of life.
It reminded me of an old song.
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full on his wonderful face.
And the things of earth
Will grow strangely dim
In the light of his glory and grace.
It's like Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians,
For our light and temporary affliction is producing for us an eternal glory that far outweighs our troubles. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)
It's something I've slowly been learning in the past months as we've walked through moments and had conversations we never expected to have about the future: this life is not all there is. Sometimes I forget it when times are good. My eyes shouldn't be set on the windshield and the drops of rain; my gaze should be fixed on what's ahead of me. I should be living my life with a blurred view of what is closest and most painful; and what is ahead of me in clear focus.
The pain, the heartache, the struggles are all very real. So was the rain. But when I spend my time looking just at the droplets pelting my windshield, I begin to think the rain will never end. I begin to think they're all that's out there. I begin to forget that the sun can shine again, will shine again. I even forget that there are other things--maybe even more important things--than the rain.
That cloud was a very visible image of God, of Heaven, of real wholeness. It was a reminder that the slog and struggle of daily living are just the temporary afflictions of this life. I press on to overcome them, I strive on in spite of them, because my view is not consumed by them. I have the perspective of something greater, something better. I can overcome because I know there's more than this.
Mingle with the rain. Let it fall on your windshield. But never forget for a moment that the sun-lined cloud is on the other side of the rain. It's a promise.
The fact that it was raining wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that the view from my windshield--the only thing I could see-- was a bright sky, a huge white cloud with glints of golden sunlight on its edges. It was beautiful. It looked like an idyllic postcard scene, and the only thing marring the view were the raindrops falling on my car.
The juxtaposition of the two very opposite weather patterns was enough to catch my attention first, but I couldn't stop looking. I was mesmerized by that cloud. It was so beautiful, so clear, so sunny, so different from the rain clouds I was expecting to see. I found myself staring at it as I drove along without really knowing why.
When things capture my attention like that, I've learned it's best to lean into them and start asking myself why they've caught me. It wasn't long before I had my answer. The scene reminded me a lot of life.
It reminded me of an old song.
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full on his wonderful face.
And the things of earth
Will grow strangely dim
In the light of his glory and grace.
It's like Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians,
For our light and temporary affliction is producing for us an eternal glory that far outweighs our troubles. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)
It's something I've slowly been learning in the past months as we've walked through moments and had conversations we never expected to have about the future: this life is not all there is. Sometimes I forget it when times are good. My eyes shouldn't be set on the windshield and the drops of rain; my gaze should be fixed on what's ahead of me. I should be living my life with a blurred view of what is closest and most painful; and what is ahead of me in clear focus.
The pain, the heartache, the struggles are all very real. So was the rain. But when I spend my time looking just at the droplets pelting my windshield, I begin to think the rain will never end. I begin to think they're all that's out there. I begin to forget that the sun can shine again, will shine again. I even forget that there are other things--maybe even more important things--than the rain.
That cloud was a very visible image of God, of Heaven, of real wholeness. It was a reminder that the slog and struggle of daily living are just the temporary afflictions of this life. I press on to overcome them, I strive on in spite of them, because my view is not consumed by them. I have the perspective of something greater, something better. I can overcome because I know there's more than this.
Mingle with the rain. Let it fall on your windshield. But never forget for a moment that the sun-lined cloud is on the other side of the rain. It's a promise.
