It's overcast outside.
And so it begins.
All my writings starting with the weather.
I could talk about it all day.
Because everyone experiences it.
Everyone can see it and feel it.
It effects them.
My grandparents understand this well.
Every phone conversation begins with the question:
how's the weather where you are?
We're separated by miles and lakes and sky.
But what really separates us isn't anything I stated above.
Decisions. Life experiences. Faith. Politics.
Right and Wrong. Black and White. Greyness.
Degrees of love.
We talk of none of that though.
It's easier. Obviously.
But I don't know them.
I know they enjoy beaches and sun and the breeze on the back porch.
And hate the cold. It's painful.
I don't know when their first heartbreak came.
And in what form?
What it was like at 20yrs old watching his first wife die.
Yes. I could ask them.
But I don't.
This crushes me.
This goes for most people in my life.
This talk of weather.
None of the real weather.
The storms in our hearts and clouds in our minds.
We can sit inside and see the rain pour down.
Hit our windows. Seeing the lightening rip across the sky.
Feel the thunder deep in our bellies.
Yet we stay inside.
Seeking comfort in this house or shelter or lie.
Because the storms are scary.
They tear things up.
Sometimes do damage.
I want to go outside.
Sit in the storm.
Bring a friend with me.
Because it's after the storm where the beauty is seen.
Where all is calm.
Where the sun boldly comes out from the behind the clouds.
Shining down, saying you survived.
You are known.
You are whole.
Feel my warmth.
Rest in this.
So maybe in talking about the weather, we're really talking about what's going on.
The storm outside reflects my heart. The sunshine today is letting me rest.
The rain feels cleansing.
What's the weather like where you are?