The sound of rain on a tin roof is perhaps the most calming, mesmerizing sounds in the world.
With this lovely amount of rain we’ve had of late, (yes, I said lovely. Because I love it.) we’ve been afforded more than usual opportunities to listen to that sound. The beautifully normal, run-of-the mill sound, that isn’t special or reserved just for you.
And we have the joy of remembering, in our quirky little reading or thinking corners to which we invite no one else, that the sound we’re hearing is God’s sound.
He designed it: He knew before He hung the earth on nothing, that almost wherever it rained, there would be that thin piece of metal on which the rain would make that certain sound. And He knew, when He orchestrated the weather patterns that are underway at this very moment, for whatever reason in the bigger picture of His plan, that somewhere there you would be, and you would be hearing this sound. And He is graciously giving you the opportunity to worship Him, by leaning your childlike head on His Fatherly breast, and humbly, comfortably, happily acknowledging that He is in complete control of everything. From the wars in the Middle East, to the movements of the planets, to the individual drops of rain that are hitting the roof.
Or that twig: that twig that is struggling for life from the ground in the little part of the woods that you call your own. That twig that is so commonplace that it could be plucked and you might not miss it; but you look at it, and realize that when God, in speaking the world into existence, knew that when He told trees to grow, that each seed would fall where it did, each tree and plant would grow as it did, and that this little twig would spring from the ground here, and an eternal soul would look up, and just “happen” to see it there.
And just like that twig, He planted the tree from which others would grow, and grow, and eventually a tree from that line would be cut down and used as a Roman torture device: a torture device that would be the instrument of marring the very One who spoke that tree into being. And the Rain-planner, the Tree designer, would still be in control, and would decide the moment He had been tortured enough, and was ready to declare “it is finished” and hang His head.
And you bend you head as you look at your twig, or hear rain on your roof, and thank and praise the One who gave up His life to give the broken and sin-cursed world new life in Him.
And suddenly you realize it has stopped raining, and there is work to do, and there are people to help, there are frustrations to stifle, other cheeks to turn, hands to hold, orphans to love, sick loved ones to tend, bills to pay, and there is a love that must be spread. And you are happy, because He is in complete control.