It hasn’t really rained for forty days and forty nights around here; it just feels like it. I write this as rain pounds my driveway, my windows, and my psyche. I’m not in danger of having to leave my home, but this deluge reminds me of others I’ve lived through and causes me to think of Noah and his ark.
Noah had a heads up when it came to planning. He was instructed by the Almighty to gather supplies and tools and get busy. Building a floating hotel was his first challenge; rounding up all those animals was his second; and keeping peace among arguing species was his third.
I have never had to round up supplies or herd animals in the midst of a rainstorm. I have, however, been encouraged to leave my former house on the river as the rising waters approached my back door and flooded the road out. It was suggested we leave by canoe. In the end, we stayed.
Then there was the time in Libertyville, Illinois, when I drove my elder son back to DePaul University in a blinding rainstorm. On my return, the road we’d previously traveled was covered with water, and my little Volkswagen literally left the asphalt and floated through it. It was surreal.
And the time in Arlington Heights, Illinois, when I went to the hospital to deliver my younger son. Back then, mother and baby stayed about five days. In that time, a terrible storm left its remnants in our basement. My book-lover husband scrambled to move his precious collection upstairs and commandeered the baby’s room. Our son spent his first few months in what could be called a home library. We eventually fixed the problem in the basement, but we also had no more children.
So a week or two of rain really depresses me. I try to cope by reading, crocheting, writing, and – Yes! – even asking the Almighty to intervene. So far, my prayers are unanswered. I wonder if Noah ever felt the same way.