A faint light seeped into the room. Though it was in the middle of the day, it appeared to be dusk. Everything was a bluish gray, the color of elephants and sleepy Sundays. The rain fell outside, knocking against our window like unrelenting hope. I held Baby against me and cried as the song played from my phone. We sat on the bed, the angels standing around us in a hushed silence as the man sang and the tears spilled.
Lord, You’ve been faithful / To plant the seed / And You will be faithful / To always send Your rain
Baby lifted his head to look at my face. He looked slightly alarmed but mostly curious then looked away to his favorite light beside our bed- the porcelain lamp etched with redwood trees. I held him close and felt comforted, not so alone. Not so confused. Not so hurt. The rain fell on a dry and thirsty land that drank and drank its fill. The seed that had been waiting for something more, to leave its cave, felt something stir inside and push its way out. There is no stopping life. He sends His rain for the seed He has planted because He hasn’t forgotten, because He is faithful, and because He is good.