grace like rain

Grace like rain. I went for a run this morning, the cold October rain falling hard. It’s been a very long time since I’ve run Orebed Road in the October rain, has it been 9 years? I knew I needed to get out in it, even after deliberating and not wanting get wet or cold. But being out in it was wonderful. Last year one of our assignments for a Christian Teaching class was to keep a log, a journal of our citings of grace. I’ve been reminded again to keep such a journal, for in keeping a record we are able to look back and remember. One of the metaphors that came clear to me last year is that grace is like rain. It comes down, waters, nourishes and restores us. But far too many times we shield ourselves from it, afraid of getting wet when the very thing we are putting up barriers against is the very thing that heals us. This rain, this water from heaven pours down on all in this place. It is the fields and the forests that readily receive it, and nourished naturally, a thirsty ground soaking up its necessity.


Yesterday I made an 18 hour trip from Wheaton to Pierrepont, the first solo travel of that distance, the first trip in my spiffy Forester. A kind of homecoming for both of us. Though the plates of the Subaru bare a NY title, the car has never seen the state. Together we made the journey, a homecoming along new roads, a journey through the rains of grace.

I am coming home for various reasons, the simplest is that God told me. Told me in the silence of the Texas wilderness and in the space of intimacy with him that this is a year that is not my own at all. In fact, it was more a reminder that my life is in His hands, and I better trust that he has the best thing in mind. A series of significant events following this revelation in the past 6 months (yes, it’s taken me that long to get here!!) has made it particularly clear that I will have no idea what to expect, but I better be expecting that God is going to have his way and I can listen and respond and be woven richly into the tapestry of abundant life.

Grace rains. Water from heaven sprinkles my windshield and is whisked away by my new wipers, and I speed over the pavement. Grace rains in me. I listened to the story of Les Miserables on the way home, an epic of redemption and the riches of life made more abundant in the conscious obedience and action of a soul attuned and responding to truth and light in a dark world. Though the story was abridged and made for radio, the plight of Victor Hugo’s characters struck me deeply. Grace rained from my eyes in the concluding chapters of Jean Val Jean’s final testimony and the awakening of truth to the lives redeemed by his own vastly turned around and redeemed life. It is the story of a man who travels is a sense with people and in places of hardship and suffering, but through the giving of his life and love, and the receptive obedience to each circumstance, he is a convict transformed into a hero. Not writing his own story at all but one written for him of epic value.

My contact was folded up somewhere in my head as I crossed the bridge to Canada, incessant blinking couldn’t dislodge the small piece of plastic that floated on tears and found its way in the back of my eye. Finishing Les Mis, along with clicking on a radio station where Alister Begg was preaching on 1 Chronicles 20, the story of Jehosaphat and his word from the Lord in the biggest battle he faced to merely stand still and watch the Lord fight for him undid me. This was the very message that has been impressed upon the fabric of my heart and being this year, stand still and watch God’s victory—AND BE STILL. It is the message that has compelled me to stop trying to figure out my story, and to be receptive to what God might want to do in me and with my life. I read this passage this summer when I had a lot of questions about what indeed I should do to take control of my life. It was incredibly apparent at the time that I was to DO NOTHING, and be grateful for whatever God had for me, trusting him in all things. Alister then continued to illustrate his sermon with the story of John the Baptist in the face of death responded as well, to be obedient and to receive even the end of his life by unjust means. God’s justice is different from ours. God’s ways of working are different from ours. And this theme, this truth, is one that I have continually been struggling with and holding on to this year.

My squinting eye prompted me to think that I should stop, and even after being put back in place rightly while driving, the idea of stopping mid-journey and having time to write and pray and just sit by some water didn’t leave. So, as I found myself on the other side of Lake Huron, my car auto piloted its way to the waterfront, a small space of land under the bride on the Canadian side of the border. In the misting weather I sat along the shore, small waves and steamships made their way past my vision. Something about the space of water clears my head to think, and to remember that the longing in my soul is not for things, or even answers, it is a longing to quench the deep thirst of the human soul. A thirst to be in an intimate relationship with Christ. And so, in this foreign country, once again, I am compelled to stop and listen.

Grace rains in our encounters.

Oswald Chambers writes about getting into God’s stride, and the difficulty of making ourselves walk with God:
“don’t give in because the pain is bad just now, get on with it, and before long you will find you have a new vision and a new purpose… God has different ways of doing things and we have to be trained and disciplined in his ways- Jesus never worked from his own individual standpoint, but always from the standpoint of his father and we have to learn to do the same…God’s spirit alters the way we look at things, get into union with himself!”

As I finished up reading, I looked to see 3 men walking along the bank of the water, strangers in the mist coming my way. I packed up my journal and began to walk toward the Sube. They were obviously sightseeing and I offered to take their picture as they were taking turns taking pictures of each other.

“I bet you’ve never taken a picture here of a Swiss man” the eldest and particularly robust elfish man proclaimed in a charming swiss accent.
“No, this is my first experience doing that” I answered him
After taking the picture and making sure that the bridge was indeed in the background I asked the man how long he was visiting Canada. The man and his two friends decided to explain to me their collective reason for being there
“we are part of a spiritual retreat, he (the swiss elf) is the speaker.”
“Oh?” the new information piqued my interest, me feeling that a spiritual retreat would be exactly in line for me to prepare for this new unknown stage of my life. “what are you speaking on exactly?”
“On Jesus of course” the elf replied, his white hair and beard matching the atmosphere and color of the misting sky. “I am just getting here. I am from Switzerland but have been a missionary in France for the last 20 years.”
“Oh really? I do similar work in China” my reply and vocation obviously surprieed and interested the trio. “I’m a teacher, and I’m here for a few years of grad school. I’m actually just passing through here myself, Chicago to New York”
“Wonderful” the three smiled and glanced at one another and me. We exchanged names and home places, Seattle, Canada, and France being theirs and shared a little more of our lives.
The Swiss/French elf pastor had a name, Nicolas. Ted and John his North American companions.
“I am speaking on the topic of God’s power in our weakness” Nicholas elaborated “when we are weak, he is strong. He goes before us and prepares our way, and his grace is sufficient for our ever weakness. He knows our path is with us in every step” the lovely and animated Swiss accent floating on the breeze. My freshly dormant tears welled to the surface again and he continued:
“Our relationship with God is like us on a teeter totter. When we are high, he is low; when we are low, God is high” Yes, I agreed. Thanking them for the encouragement I shared how I was compelled to come to the water, my thirsty soul needing to be there, and now understanding that responding to the spirits pull in me was in fact an entrance to the blessing of grace and encouragement from fellow pilgrims.
“that’s interesting” Ted shared “ I was supposed to take him around the town, and planned a completely different place to visit, but found myself drawn to the water as well, and now I see why” Yes, the Spirit pulls us, and in our obedience we receive the blessings.
There, on the cement shore of Lake Huron, on the border of two countries I joined hands with these men, complete strangers yet brothers, and prayed together. An overwhelming sense of grace poured out upon my journey. We are drawn to the water, to the living, quenching, satisfying and healing water, and there found grace like rain, and sustenance for the journey ahead.

rain
I thought this is a good illustration of the idea of grace like rain