That Little Ray of Sun

Swan Valley, Montana, spring 2008--another rainy day

Do you ever have times in your life where the same ridiculous thing happens to you over and over? Kind of like a pattern? It reminds me of the story Jeffrey R. Holland tells of packing up his car to drive his family East to graduate school and a new life, and the car breaks down twice in the same spot, leaving him very discouraged and downtrodden. What are the chances?

I found myself in that rut. Again. It happened again. Is it irony? Is it a joke? Is there something wrong with me?

This morning after I dropped off Janiece at the Library of Congress, I drove home in a torrential downpour. It was raining so hard I could hardly see straight as I scurried home to prepare for a digital history conference. As soon as I was alone in the car I found the tears pouring out of my eyes. Streaming. Gushing. Before I knew it, there was a veritable rain storm inside as well as outside. I could barely see straight. It's been a long week and it's not over, and yet some crazy new information yesterday sort of threw me off, leaving me with a lot of questions and a lot of "stuff." I was flooded--both physically and emotionally.

The best part? After changing into "presentation" mode, I grabbed my umbrella and raced out the door for some last-minute preparation at my office. The deluge of rain? Gone. The sun was suddenly out, the sky blue, and the beautiful spring blossoms of Washington that I love so much were in full force. I gingerly hopped through the mud and puddles to get into my car, but I actually had to put on sunglasses.

I suppose spring in order to be spring needs those moments of torrential downpour. And the value of the skies parting is only of value when there is a storm. I just know that that ray of light, although fleeting, is a pattern in my life, too. I can count on seeing that over. And over. And over.