Walking in the Rain

Drops run down my face,
like cold tears,
into my eyes, down my cheek.
My hair, my clothes,
all getting soaked.
I don't like it, getting wet
especially without an umbrella.
But then I realize,
He's washing the earth.
And He's washing me,
like He did at my baptism.
Water ran over my head then, too.
And He made me His own.
He cleansed me of my sins,
through water and the Word,
and still, daily, He washes me,
washes my sins away.
Not with water, anymore,
with grace, forgiveness.
I realized this,
walking in the rain.


It's still National Poetry Month!