"Rain falls... Angry on the tin roof..."

Ahh... the sound of tiny pellets from the sky, falling on the shiny metal affixed above my head.

It's finally Rainy Season.

If you have never had the chance to sit under a tin roof while it is raining, then I don't think you have fully discovered a part of your soul (OK... that's a bit overstated. I don't want you city folk to get upset with me).

Seriously... I think that it would be a great idea to make tin umbrellas. That way, no matter where you are when it starts raining, you can experience the therapeutic melodies of rain and metal. I guess the only issue would be lightening, ehh?

Right now, I feel like I just ate an ice cream cone on a hot summer day that ended up covering more of my body than actually going into my mouth. You know the feeling...

You don't want any part of your body to touch another part because they just stick together. So, you lay in bed in "anatomical position" in order to minimize the amount of sticky surfaces that will be touching each other.

Humidity... UGH!

But, there's something about the sound of those little drops on that tin roof that just make that uncomfortableness float toward the back of your consciousness.

There's something about the rhythmic feel of rain that just lets you know life will go on.

It forces your mind to stop for a second and bathe in the simplicity of the moment.

One of the things that I absolutely love about Malawi is the lack of "noise". I probably shouldn't say "lack of"... there are definitely "noises", but they are noises that I am unfamiliar with.

When I sit in my apartment in the States, I hear the constant hum of the appliances that are turned on. Stop right now and just listen............ I bet you can hear the refrigerator. Depending on how many moderately clean pairs of pants are left in my closet, I may hear the cycles of the washer. Water on... Water off... Spin on... Spin off... Repeat. Then there is the tumble of the dryer that sends the sounds of those loose pennies that you forgot to take out of your pocket, clinging and clanging through the house. The A/C is usually a constant companion when we are alone in a house. If no one is talking to you, the A/C is always there to keep your mind occupied (at least in Texas).

Now... the previous example is someone that is living "simply" and trying not to clog their mind with too much. For the rest of us... there are the conversations that are mumbling back and forth in the background coming from our TV. You probably have some music playing somewhere within a 20 foot radius of your self... and if you are a hip teen, it will probably be playing within a millimeter radius of your ear drum.

We hear the cars drive by, honking at whoever did whatever to them.

And in most cases, you're not just hearing all that stuff from your house, but you're probably hearing it from both of your neighbors as well.

It makes it a little difficult to detect those tiny drops that are repeating a rhythm that is ancient.

One of those things that when you sit and listen, you know that it is the same sound that your great-great-great-grandpa was listening to when he was sipping on coffee during the evening showers on the farm. I'm hearing the same sounds in a village in Malawi as I do when I'm sitting in west Texas, staring at the vast Texas plains.

Rain represents so much here.

People are so dependent on the rain.

If the rains are late, or fail to come all together, it can spell death and starvation for many people.

Unlike what we're familiar with in the States, rains are extremely cyclical and tend to be really precise.

From around May until November, Rain just goes away. The place is abandoned. Gradually, everything begins to dry up. Little by little, things become tense. The ground sucks up the last bit of water... the creeks become parched... dust begins to rise and clog everyone's nose.

Then one magical day in November or so, you hear a rumbling in the distance. Could it really be true? It seems like there are a few days of tease. You hear the thunder, you see the sky light up, but nothing.

Everybody waits in anticipation. When will I be walking down the sidewalk and feel that moisture skim my hair and freak out thinking a bird just pooed on me?

Then, as if God Himself were looking straight down on you at that very moment, the drops begin to fall. One by one. Steady. Pacing. Until a momentum gathers that cannot be halted.

People scurry around like ants after a punk little boy sticks his King Kong foot into their home. For a brief moment, everyone just kinda stops to acknowledge.

I was talking with a Malawian man as we looked into the distance at a dark cloud hovering over a section of land, resembling a giant water pail. You could just see the sheets of rain falling towards the earth. His comment was: "They're being Blessed today."

I feel blessed today...

Rain comes in such a way that it forces you to cease what you were doing and recognize it...

Plans get canceled that previously seemed so important...

People that are working outside, put down their tools and take cover...

We rest.

We wait.

We think.

Just like the parched earth that months of dry weather produces here in Malawi... my soul gets the same way.

All the sudden, I get antsy. I get tired. I get restless. I know there has to be something more. I begin to feel like my life is just out of rhythm. Not in sync with what God intended.

Then the Rain comes...

I find that rhythm all over again.

I remember anew the importance of... resting... waiting... thinking.

The beautiful part of being in Malawi, is the absence of the other "noises". Right now, all I can hear is "pitter-patter", crickets chirping, and my fingers hitting my keyboard. Nothing else!

The great thing is... this is just the beginning! The rainy season will last for the next several months. A wonderful, predictable cycle of water falling from the sky and causing me to recall things of old. Things that I don't choose to think about on a regular basis. The Rhythm of life.

So... I look forward to what God is going to teach me over the next few months.

I say "Boooo" to the man that wrote the song: "Rain, rain go away... Come again some other day." That song is just lame anyway...

Apparently he never set foot in Africa...


**50 Malawian Kwacha goes to the person that can tell me what song I got the title of this post from**