We find ourselves in a ten acre waterpark and for as far as my eye can see, there are half naked people running and screaming and jumping and skipping and raising their hands as if in worship and my eyes brim with the excess.
I just wanted to go have fun with my boys. Just go where it was wet and sunny and smiley. Find a way to forget that the thermometers are boiling. Find some way to escape.
But I just can’t.
I can’t stop thinking that as I watch 500 gallons of water fall, just for the hell of it, upon the heads of laughing children here that there are other children there who are walking miles to get just a smidgen of the same. Children who can’t even begin to fathom that somewhere in the world there are parks of water.
And then there is here, too. This summer of no rain and everywhere, farmers are plowing under crops and choking on the dust and trying to add up the numbers that just don’t add up.
And yet, here we are.
There is crystal clear water spraying and squirting and showering all.day.long.
And for some reason that I will never understand this side of heaven, we are here and others are there.
I sit on the side of the water and catch a glimpse of a tiny little girl, crouched in the middle of the throng, hands to her face, crying. She is looking frantically around her, desperate for a glimpse of someone, something familiar, but it is clear that she doesn’t really see. Slowly, she starts to spiral inward. I go to her because I know that fear, that longing. I feel it, too, sweet girl.
She is reconnected with her own in seconds but she will never really forget this day. This moment. This feeling. Until she crosses over into the hands of love, she will always remember the craziness of feeling so alone among thousands of people.
And then it hits me.
This is what it means to be blessed.
They rain down just as ludicrously as the millions of gallons of water that fall from these fake pirate ships and colored sprayers.
They never make sense.
They are never earned or deserved.
They just rain down.
It is when I respond in love to these storms of grace filled blessings…it is then that I come to know what it means to be blessed.
Ironically, we are at this oversized extravagant park because of the generosity of others. Evidently, there are folks who think that kids who read should be rewarded with free things. We never could have afforded to even walk through the gates of a place like this, otherwise.
Again, these blessings…they are ludicrous.
This whole place is ludicrous.
But I am here with these two amazing boys and we go down slides too fast and our hearts leap and our voices scream and I know that I don't deserve any of it.
But the water, it keeps raining down.
And I throw my hands up in worship and my eyes brim with the excess.
Linking up with Emily at Imperfect Prose today