Rain

in my journal I usually write letters to God. I figured I'd write it here instead of there :)

Love,

     You have filled this day with rain and it is holy. How often, in your love letter to us, the Word, have you used water-the source of all life-to paint for us who you are in our lives. This stream of flowing water deep in our souls filling us, coursing through us, ever present, ever deep. How can you be in me God? How can you in your precious perfection, your brilliant glory come to reside in the brokenness of our humanity?
     God  rain is a nuance, it is dreary and inconvenient. I dawn my umbrella and hustle through to shelter. And God  I do the same with you. Every day. You wait eagerly, ready to drench me in your Spirit, pour yourself into me, hold my hand and show me and teach em great, unsearchable things I do not know-and my response is to hustle right by with the strange notion that I have important things to to do. But you are a God who sends rain again and again, that even when dawned my raincoat of schoolwork, my umbrella of social commitments, you still pour yourself out hoping to slip in past those things and reach our skin and just maybe reach a little deeper into our heart. Rain is lovely, Lord and you are lovely.
    Humble me God. Bring me to my knees in knowing that I have nothing to offer but that you will use me still to advance your kingdom. Thank you God for not giving us a roadmap of a life, steps to follow to make you happy, how to be a disciple. Because that is exactly what I want. And I know that I want it because then I could do it on my own. And when I'm doing it on my own, all is lost. You require us as your people to let you lead us  and that is far more intimate and then giving us a job and letting us do it on our own.
    Teach me God to explain to people that all that I am here to do is make much of Jesus. To love him and to love people because He does and He is who I want to be like. Thats it. I'm not here to change the world or to save it or to gain some glory that I am lifted up here because I wrote well or helped sick people or ended poverty. I am here to be brought low, to be forgotten, and made rubbish (as Paul would say) that all people see is You. None of us, all of You. Mold us as your Beloved into that.
     Thanks again for this holy downpour. Or sprinkling. But mostly just for choosing to be here. To be in the rain and in the sun and in our hearts and our lives. You love us so much. So much no matter how we respond, no matter what we do. Loved by the one that is Love.