I anticipate the rain just moments before it materializes. There is little warning, however. Perhaps there is a slight shift in the wind direction, or a subtle dimming of the sun. Out of the clear-blue autumn sky, large drops accelerate quickly into a steady pelting.
I observe dozens of people from a distance. They are caught off-guard in the park we are sharing by the lake, midday. Newspapers, lawn chairs, and plastic grocery bags become shields that they hold above their heads.
I make no such sudden move.
The warmth of the sun and the mingling coolness is refreshing. It is the best kind of rain. Out of nowhere, unexpected, smack dab in the middle of a beautiful afternoon. Like tears streaming in the midst of laughter, the culmination and mixing of opposite emotions. Perfect.
I lift my face skyward.
As I watch the dancing of rain and sunlight I feel as though I have been here before, with opposing seasons competing over me.
And then I remember.
I remember how the cancer diagnosis hit me 10 years prior. I was eight months pregnant when the doctor’s words washed over me: Malignant. Surgery. Pathology. Chemotherapy. You are young. Good prognosis. We’ll save the baby. Pelting rain. Interrupting my late 20s. Right there, in the middle of my sunny season.
I remember how I had reached for a shield. Something or someone to soften the blow and to protect me. And how nothing had worked.
I remember how I cried while the chemo entered my veins for the first time. And how I somehow sensed the storm was temporary. And necessary. I remember also how I learned to soothe my newborn daughter while attached to an IV pole. Her smile had inspired me when I was weak and tired and drained and angry to be facing two conflicting forces simultaneously.
She had been the sunshine in the midst of my terrible storm. I remember how I finally gave up control and submitted to the season, admitting God’s promises as still true. It had been scary and exhilarating. Cancer stirred things in me things I didn’t know I possessed: Courage. Perserverance. Maturity. Faith. Knowledge of who I was. Without status, without hair, without control. Without much of anything but me and God and a downpour that I hadn’t expected. That season had brought the best kind of rain: Cathartic.
My knees had stabled me during that time. I feel them weaken beneath me now. I am drenched and kneeling. The rain pelts harder through the open, autumn skies and I am not reaching for anything to block it. I know that my wobbly submission holds power and cleansing.
Then something miraculous happens. They begin to dance together ~ the sun and the rain, mingling with my own tears.
I rise slowly and order my steps forward, soaked and smiling. The perspective I had set out to find on this walk is unexpectedly gained. I am ready to face whatever awaits me on the other side of the lake and dusk that approaches now. I climb the stairs, cleansed in new viewpoint, and survey the dance of the drops and sunlight on the water.
I steady myself with the same strong, primitive railing from 10 years prior: Hebrews 11:1. “To live by faith and not by sight.” To believe in the sun even when it is not shining.
For the climate of the skies will surely change again. And HIS promises will still be true.
Even in the confusion of competing seasons.
Leave a Comment
Wendy says
Hi Amy,
I just loved your post today. I feel that God speaks most often to me when I’m out experiencing His creation. Being in the great outdoors is like being in His personal cathedral, one that man can’t possibly compete with. Being a Georgia girl like you, I am able to enjoy that cathedral almost year round. My mom had cancer during the Christmas season one year, so I can totally relate to the competing seasons. My faith grew so much during that competing season and so did hers. Thanks for sharing.
Wendy 🙂
Amy Breitmann says
Wendy, Yes~ the outdoors are like “His personal cathedral.” How beautiful. The mixing of Christmas joy and cancer is surreal. A prayer to you and your mom as this season approaches again.
Julie Sunne says
This is beautiful, Amy! Lovely and full of wisdom: live by faith not by sight.
Amy Breitmann says
Thank you~ yes, although I want to “see” the future, I know it is ultimately HIS.
Jasmine says
Thank you for such a thought provoking and emotive post. My sister in law had a similar experience when she was pregnant with my nephew. Absolutley crushing for her and all her family around her but thanks to GOD after all the treatment she was given the all clear and my nephew is a fat healthy 18month old. She has a pep scan today your post is quite timely here’s hoping God will bless her and us all again by giving her strength and giving her the all clear. I pray she will come to know Jesus xx
Amy Breitmann says
Jasmine I know every test can bring these fears back to the surface as we walk back through emotions. Praying for healing in ALL ways for your whole family.
Sharon says
“I remember how I finally gave up control and submitted to the season, admitting God’s promises as still true.” Amen. Thank you for this.
Amy Breitmann says
Sharon…such freedom in submission. It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over.
Shelli Littleton says
Beautiful, Amy. I experienced just the opposite. My one year old baby girl had a Wilms tumor … kidney tumor. Chemotherapy. One year old. Receiving her port-a-cath … chemo. In hind sight, I’m so thankful for my total ignorance regarding everything, or I would have been a worse basket-case. We had no complications … so many things could have gone wrong, that I discovered later. I’m thankful God spared me of the extra worries and concerns. It’s been a journey for certain. And I wouldn’t be writing today without all the hard times. Growth and good material to share. Blessed by you … shelli
Amy Breitmann says
Shelli oh how we ache when our children suffer. I’m so grateful for your baby girl and the healing and HIS path for you in writing.
Shelly Hendricks (@Renewed_Daily) says
You describe the duality of chronic illness so perfectly. I cried tears when I read your heart, but they were the cathartic kind. Thank you. Blessings, Shelly <3
Amy Breitmann says
Oh Shelly~ cathartic tears are the best. Thank you for sharing here.
Tara says
All I can add to this is amen. 🙂
Amy Breitmann says
Such a great, encouraging response Tara…thank you.
karyn says
The years come and go by like there is no time. The blessings of the rain and showers is something extraordinary.
As a teenager I used to play at the peak with my best friend. Especially during the rain. We would run up to the top of the peak wit the two dogs, soaking wet in laughter and happiness. We would ride our bikes with the two dogs jogging and wagging their tails and panting and happy beside our bikes.
One day it rained really really heavily. So heavily it hurt us so bad. We cried, literally. Girls. Teenage girls. It hurt without relief. We cried out, ouch ouch ouch and cried and put our heads down. And ran back into the house as quick as we possibly could from way up ……
I learnt something that day.
Rain is a blessing. It soothes the skin and cools it in the heat of the day. Even in our heavy jackets in the cool of the winter. We find laughter, giggles and happiness and joy joy joy. Even when we cried and was in such deep deep pain from the downpour. When we got back in, we laughed so hard. Giggled and looked at each other and the dogs. Poor dogs. They had more good sense. But followed us everywhere.
We were happy.
And so it is with the LORD. Happiness is a thing to be grasped in our everyday lives. In the good and in the bad. Trust in the LORD and live in HIS will. Pain and all. Life is not easy. It is extremely hard at times. At those times I wondered, when it would end.
And then the sun shines and the warmth of the sun tingles on my skin and I two look up. It is then I declare that in all things, God is good all the time.
Amy Breitmann says
Karyn that is a beautiful story~ I can picture it. Such wisdom and perspective…thank you for sharing it with me. Many blessings to you.
Beth Williams says
God has blessed you with emotive, poetic words. I just loved this post and could visualize you sitting there crying in the rain.
I had a tough season that began 6 years ago. My mom , then 82, went into the hospital with abdominal pain. After 1.5 months in & out of hospitals, ERs, ICUs, and rehab we get to take her home. Then her minor dementia manifested itself and went into full blown sundowner’s. She spent the next two years totally bedridden–ever so thankful for HOSPICE! The finally & peacefully she passed away at home. It was a happy, sad moment for us all.
I was relieved not to watch her progress worse into dementia and end up in a nursing home & for my dad who could finally “be relieved of duty” and start to enjoy life more. It hasn’t been easy on him living alone, but he manages.
Praise to God for all His goodness!!
Blessings to all!
Amy Breitmann says
Oh Beth, that season can be so raw. I am blessed that you can see the providence in it~ the sunshine in the middle of the terrible storm. HIs promises still true.
tammy@meadows speak says
You said it best right here: “Like tears streaming in the midst of laughter, the culmination and mixing of opposite emotions. Perfect.” I think there is something in that Frio water which makes a girl free with laughter. So very glad we met. Now I get to share in your journey, through words and what a blessing they are too.
Jody Lee Collins says
Amy, I clicked on over via my friend Karin F’s post on Facebook. This is a beautiful piece–I like your ‘paraphrase’ of Heb. 11:1, “To believe in the sun even when it is not shining.”
What a testimony to God’s grace in your life. And why, look, here you still are. He is good.
Alison Hector says
Beautifully written, Amy. Sometimes the seasons do intermingle; the true beauty lies in the fact that God has total control over them all, and over us. What comfort that delivers to anxious souls!
Kelly Greer says
Amy – You brought me back ten years too when the unexpected entered my life. I was diagnosed with a brain tumor on my 44th birthday and it changed my life, everything about it, abruptly. But God was there and I too learned things I never knew about myself, about Him, about my loved ones. It has been in this season of life that I came to the end of myself and learned how to surrender to His will. Well, actually, I had no choice but to lean on him each minute of every day if I were to survive at all. A sweet time of fellowship with the Lord that I will never forget. And here you were, experiencing a similar thing ten years ago. My brain surgery was on Mother’s day that year. When was yours?
Hugs,
Kelly