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Listening to the Rain

Raindrops gently tap on the windshield of the car.  The sweet fragrance of rain filled the air long before the first drops had begun to fall.  Turning off the audio book in the CD player, so that the sound of rain could be heard more clearly, was almost a mindless decision.  Events of the past couple of days quietly began tiptoeing back into my mind, as the wipers tapped out a hypnotic rhythm.
Doc and I had spent the last three days in New York.  During the day we went separately to the different destinations that interested us, coming together in the afternoons to share stories and treasures we had found.
Our last night there we had dinner on a terrace looking over the East River as the sun set on the Manhattan skyline.  About eleven, we decided to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge; it was near midnight when we got to the other side.  What an incredible sight; the lights of the city, the people who were so different in appearance from us, and many who reminded me of people back home.  We marveled at the different lifestyles and cultures around us.
 A family who spoke with a heavy Spanish accent was posing in front of the skyline to take pictures. “Uno, Dos, Tres, Cheeseburger!”
After crossing the bridge we looked for an ice cream shop, hoping one was still open.  We passed a young man in jeans and a tee shirt talking to three men about his age.   The three young men had blue hair groomed up into a tall spike at the top of their head, pierced lips and ears from which hung dangling jewelry.  The conversation coming from the one in jeans caught me a little off guard.  “Jesus loves you, man.  He thinks you are beautiful, man.  He loves you so much that He threw Himself under the bus to save you!”  The three blue hairs were not moving, but they were listening.
The wind blows a little harder, and brings the scent of Pine trees and rain into the car, interrupting of my thoughts and bringing me back to the present.   I whisper a prayer for the young man, whose passion is street ministry.  Father, bless him one hundred fold, and create more like him…begin with me.
Isaiah 9:4 “And the Lord said to him, ‘Go through the midst of the city, even through the midst of Jerusalem, and put a mark on the foreheads of the men who sigh and groan over all the abominations which are being committed in its midst.’”

Posted by Diane W. Bailey on October 25, 2012
9 Comments Post a comment
  1. 08/15/2011

    Diane, I like your description of the rain, esepcailly the fragrance of the rain .. although I'm not sure if you can smell it. But its poetic.

  2. 10/25/2012

    so so good!!!!!!!!!!Thanks

  3. 10/26/2012

    Oh Diane… you opened the flood gates. How beautifully you have written this account of your 3-days in NY. It’s so awesome to see such heart and passion for those who are less fortunate. We busy ourselves so that we forget there is a dying and oppressed world out there in our midst. Thank-you for bringing back to the forefront of my mind that there are those in need of our intercessory prayer, as well as those in need of our time and love. Blessing to you, friend! I hope your weekend is full of rest and replenishment…

  4. 10/29/2012

    “He threw himself under the bus for you…” What a picture you’ve painted here, and those words are going to stick with me a while.

  5. 10/29/2012

    “He threw himself under the bus to save you…” What a beautiful picture you’ve painted here, and those words are going to stick with me a while…

  6. 11/4/2012

    I’ve enjoyed reading your articles. You have a gift of showing, instead of telling, and the reader identifies with your thoughts. Keep up the good work!


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