I spent most of the morning on my back patio, watching the rain fall down over the dry desert land, talking on the phone with my loved ones far away and re-reading Blue Like Jazz.
It’s 75 degrees outside right now. And it’s July. In ARIZONA. Never, ever happens.
Monsoon season is strange to this Midwestern girl. I’m used to storms, most certainly, but these are very different. There is usually a great deal of lightening and very little thunder. Most of the time it’s just small and big haboobs, caused my lungs to fill with dust and sneezes for days after. Never have I experienced a monsoon day that is cool like this one. I know this is God’s gracious care for me filling my heart. My heart that was desperate for a filling up. The air smelled like I was back in Nebraska this morning and nothing has ever felt so sweet.
It not much… just a little rain. For right now I’ll take it. Because rain has come to symbolize something for me since I moved to the desert. It’s come to symbolize home.