The Sound of Rain

I love waking up to the soothing, gentle sounds of rain falling outside my bedroom window. It is somehow reassuring to me. And always, upon waking to the tap dance of raindrops, I feel more rested and refreshed than usual. I know this is due to the improved quality of sleep brought about because of the sound. I always sleep better when it rains. What I don’t know is exactly why this is so. Nonetheless, I have heard other people mention this phenomenon as well. I seem to recall the words of a popular song a few years back proclaiming, “I love a rainy night…”

Of course, I must also confess that I love rainy days almost as much as rainy nights. When I find myself out and about on a rainy day, I especially love the sound of the raindrops plop, plop, plopping on the roof of the van. I usually pause for a minute or two to listen before leaving the dry warmth to dash across the parking lot to my intended business. Who can say what it is in the sound of raindrops that catches my attention and effortlessly transports me to a peaceful reverie?

I suppose, like so many “unexplained” reactions, I could trace my enchantment with rain and its sounds to my childhood. I grew up within the walls of a “flat top” house. Their flat roofs gave them the “clean, geometric, modern” look so popular during the late 1950’s. Covered with tar paper, tar and gravel, there was nothing between the roofing materials and the wood of the slat and beam ceiling…nothing to buffer or suppress the sound when the roof was subjected to contact with the elements. The rain falling upon the tar and gravel created a sound soothing to the ears and the soul. I remember lying in my bed in the dark on many a rainy night, peacefully falling off to sleep, lulled by the steady, staccato pitter pat of those raindrops, safe, dry and toasty warm in my blankets and confident that all was well, in spite of the storm raging on right outside my window. I would succumb to the cocoon of slumber thinking of the water puddles waiting to be jumped in, the security of galoshes, rain slickers and umbrellas, indoor recesses playing “7-Up” and the fresh-washed look of the world after the rain has stopped.

I guess I never really thought about it before, but this morning I find myself in an unexpected attitude of gratitude for my parents’ choice of housing when I was a child. I am grateful that I was able to hear the rain on the roof and can, all these years later, immediately recall to memory the feelings of safety, security and continuity that those sounds evoked in my childish soul. How wonderful it is that those feelings return unbidden now, whenever God washes the world with raindrops.

And I am reminded of the eternal truth that where I am now, there also is God and He believes in me.

Peace and I’m outta’ here.