There Will Come Soft Rains

I love storms.
I love how the sky roars after it sparkles with nature's fireworks. Growing up in Arizona where the earth is parched most of the year, the monsoon storms were welcomed by my mother and I. We'd wake one another if they came in the night, and then stand silently appreciating God's wonder.

Good things have always happened for me during storms, or so it seems.
The day J1 was born was stormy. As I laid in the hospital room wondering how on earth I would parent him alone, large thundering clouds rolled in. It seemed like it was a promise that everything would be ok.
It was.
He is my miracle, my gift, and today he turns 20.

He's 5000 miles away from me, so the thrill I have of him turning 20 is saddened by distance,
and a day where the rain has come, but no storm.


The rain falls steadily down my cheeks as my good friend is planning
her husband's funeral.

I ache in a way I can't even put to words, and out of respect,
I won't even attempt it today.
We love you and we'll miss you, Dave.