After the storm? Healing rain? What was the poem going through my head trying to be written before the first light of dawn peaked through the gap in my curtains? What was the song drifting through my thoughts?
Spirit of gentleness . . .
The gentle breeze merely lifts the dust on the sun-baked clay.
But a gentle rain might soak in a bit, perhaps not enough.
And a hard pelting rain might crack through the clay, but wash it away leaving a flooded, muddy mess.
What is the right rain to heal the clay of man or woman?
What is the right pressure to soften the heart and not turn it away?
The warm steady rain that leaves puddles dimpled by individual drops, spreading out in circles to bless the clay. To settle deep below, soften the soul, let it begin to flourish, to support new growth.
And where do I find this in my faith? In the examination of conscience, the preparation for confession. By following the prodding of that warm steady rain that supports new growth.
A habit that makes it easier to pull new weeds before they take root. A reminder of God’s love for me and a renewal of my commitment to God affirmed in confession.
Naked Soul Thoughts 