OT..........Run through the rain...........

[Kitty C.]

Run through the rain


A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in

Wal-Mart. She must have been 6 years old, this

beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of

innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain

that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a

hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the

spout. We all stood there under the awning and just

inside the door of the Wal-Mart.

 

We waited, some patiently, others irritated because

nature messed up their hurried day. I am always

mesmerized by rainfall. I got lost in the sound and

sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of

the world. Memories of running, splashing so carefree

as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve from

the worries of my day.

 

The little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic

trance we were all caught in "Mom, let's run through

the rain," she said.

 

"What?" Mom asked.


"Let 's run through the rain!" She repeated.


"No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mom

replied.
 

This young child waited about another minute and

repeated: "Mom, let's run through the rain,"

 

"We'll get soaked if we do," Mom said.

 

"No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this

morning," the young girl said as she tugged at her

Mom's arm.

 

'This morning? When did I say we could run through the

rain and not get wet?'

 

"Don't you remember? When you were talking to Daddy

about his cancer, you said, 'If God can get us through

this, he can get us through anything!"

 

The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you

couldn't hear anything but the rain. We all stood

silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes.

 

Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she

would say. Now some would laugh it off and scold her

for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said.

But this was a moment of affirmation in a young

child's life. A time when innocent trust can be

nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.

 

"Honey, you are absolutely right. Let's run through

the rain. If GOD let's us get wet, well maybe we just

needed washing," Mom said.

 

Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and

laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through

the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their

heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were

followed by a few who screamed and laughed like

children all the way to their cars.

 

And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

 

Circumstances or people can take away your material

possessions, they can take away your money, and they

can take away your health. But no one can ever take

away your precious memories...So, don't forget to make

time and take the opportunities to make memories

everyday. To everything there is a season and a time to

every purpose under heaven.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This kinda hit home, especially since DS's dad died of cancer 2 years ago.......just wanted to pass this on to all my good friends here at SPARC......

[MixedBag]

That's great!

And you have mail...

Iris

[Kitty C.]

:-)

[Bolivar]

thanks

And remember that when you mix water and dirt you get a fantastic material called mud.

And when waking trails with a 4 ½ year old and you encounter a mud puddle,, the best way to navigate the situation is straight through.  At least that's how my son captains the obstacle.  Being the follower I to must stick to his course. :-)

[Bolivar]

HANDS

An old man, probably some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the park bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. When I
sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat, I wondered if he was ok.

Finally, not really wanting to disturb him, but wanting to check on him at
the same time, I asked him if he was ok. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, sir, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were ok," I explained to him.

"Have you ever looked at your hands?" he asked. "I mean really looked at your hands?"

I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. "No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands," as I tried to figure out the point he was making.

Then he smiled and related this story:

"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They dried the tears of my children and caressed the love of my life. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I went off to war. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the aisle. Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plow off of my best friends foot. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer. These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life."

"More importantly though, it will be these hands that God will reach out and
take when he leads me home. And He won't care about where these hands have been or what they have done. What He will care about is to whom these hands belong and how much He loves these hands. And with these hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ."


No doubt I will never look at my hands the same again. I never saw the old
man again after I left the park that day, but I will never forget him and
the words he spoke. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the
face of my children and wife I think of the man in the park. I have a
feeling he has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God. I,
too, want to touch the face of God and feel his hands upon my face. Thank
you, Father God, for hands.

[Kitty C.]

But thanks for sharing it with everyone here, too!

[nosonew]

a good cry...thanks...

[joni]

you know the "spoiler" warning when someone tells how a book ends or how a series finale was before someone else sees it.  posters should put a crier warning label on these posts!

[sweetnsad]

I agree!!!  But they were beautiful.  Thank you Kitty and Boliver....gosh, I'm such a sap.

:)