The rain is falling all around,
It falls on field and tree.
It rains on the umbrellas here
And on the ships at sea.
—Robert Lewis Stevenson
Children watching rain. I hear them in my van’s back seat wondering at how the drops travel up the windshield but down their windows, and I remember the attention I have given to the paths of rain on glass: one drop speeding to oblivion at the bottom, while another dallied sideways, lacking courage for the plunge, until joined by a companion with which it finished the race — two drops suddenly one. Mesmerizing.
But I never had enough attention. There were always more drops than my eyes could trace. While I followed one, ten more would have finished their course, unseen by anyone. And that was just on one pane of glass.
In a meditation on rain, John Piper shares that, in order for one inch of rain to fall on one square mile of land, more than a billion pounds of water must travel through the air to be dropped. A billion pounds of water.
Consider the people receiving that rain. Within that single square mile the rain might mean blessed relief for brittle nerves. It might underscore a deep despair, as if the sky itself joined in grief. It might be a soothing sound-track to a delicious nap. A source of fear. The disappointment — or joy — of cancelled plans. The excitement of puddles to explore. Rain can mean bane or blessing, wrath or reward.
But this I know: in those billion pounds of water, not one drop escapes our Maker’s eye. He not only sees their courses; He charted them ahead of time. Each atom no more nor less than a servant to His will.
He knows which drops will be seen and which won’t. He knows those that soak your scalp as you dash indoors, those arrested by oak leaves high above the ground, those swallowed whole by puddles and ponds, and those my boys trace down van windows.
And He knows the souls: those thirsty, those drowning, those satisfied. He “sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matt. 5:45).
His care is vast and small enough for raindrops. Doubt not: it is vast and small enough for you, too.
© Stacy Crouch 2021