I can think of little that evokes more sense of comfort than
the scent of rain. The sound of it, patting against windows or walls or tin roof endlessly, pleases me. The splatter on leaves in the forest can be such a surprise and so loud. Thunder rumbles do not scare me. I know that is the sound of angels bowling. Grandma told me that and I know she did not lie.
I love the blast of lightning that turns the very air blue-white. It shows me heaven is farther than I can hope to reach right now, but will be there none the less when the time is come.
Someone sent me a story of a child who loved the smell of rain. She had been a premature infant too fragile to be touched, but she loved the smell of rain. She said it was the smell of Him when He held her close against
His chest.
I was not a preemie, but like her, I love the smell of rain. It is the scent of Him, indeed, and comforts me. I simply
forgot why until her story reminded me.
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