Learning to Dance in the Rain

Dancing in the Rain Chapter 1 Suddenly the sound of shots rang out. Pop, pop, pop! Oddly, they were only on the metal roof above me. Instead of cowering, the small children began to laugh and shout and run into the courtyard. Afraid they would be targets for the shooters, I ran after them. The bright Kenya sunlight blinded me as I ran into the courtyard. Before me was the most joyful celebration of dancing, shouting, hand raising, and singing I had ever seen. In spite of the bright sunlight, rain was falling. The children spun round and round as the rain danced on their heads. The noise I had heard had not been gunshots, but rain drops pounding on the metal roof. The joy of these children was exhilarating to see. Soon their delighted teachers joined them, and large circles formed as they danced and swung arms. We Americans stood in wonder with silly grins across our faces. Our first thoughts were to grab an umbrella, but instead, they began pulling these silly white people into their delighted circle. As clouds moved in the rain poured down, and we caught their exuberance and joy. I looked across the compound here in Nairobi, Kenya, to see my daughter, Teri, with her head tilted back with rain dancing on her face. How alive and happy she was. She was soaking in every moment, joy, and laughter her heart could absorb. At 42 she was a triumph of determination, inspiration, and endurance, and, as a mom, I could only pour out my thanks to God for allowing me to see her so happy. With a grateful heart I stood still, smiling at the picture of life-giving water, gratefulness, and happiness played out before me. Rain was not an imposition to these people. It was a gift of life to them. How privileged we were to be able to experience this with them. Pure gratefulness was the basis of this celebration. Content in my own world, I felt a tug on my arm and looked down to see a beautiful, black face staring up at me. I shook my head trying to clear my brain-fog and listened as this tiny girl spoke to me. “Why aren’t you dancing?” She asked innocently. “I was just watching,” I replied. “No,” she protested. “You need to dance with me!” She pulled me into the circle where we began praising and singing, swaying, and swirling. Teri looked across the heads of the students with delight in her eyes. We had spent so many hours, days and weeks preparing lessons to teach here and now the most teachable moment of all was for us, the Americans, to learn the gratefulness and reliance on God these people experience daily. Water was so valuable in this African nation, and God was pouring it out on us. Dancing in the rain was the only proper reaction. So, I danced and thought of the arduous journey I had traveled to reach this place where I understood this simple lesson. It all began 35 years earlier. Thinking back to that day I remembered even then the rain was pelting the window. The big drops slammed into the pane, adhered, and began sliding down. Each drop looked like it was dancing against the glass until it was shattered and gave up to a power greater than itself. The sky was gloomy and dark. Tears slid down my cheeks much like rain drops. There was no sun, no joy, no bursting of enthusiasm, only a heaviness that engulfed me. I glanced over my shoulder to see my seven-year-old, Teri, lying in a bed with multiple tubes supporting her. What had the doctor said? Malignant? How could that be? She is so healthy and energetic. This can’t be right. I turned back to the rain and gloom that seemed to absorb my feelings. Why are the heavens opening up today? It seemed the angels were weeping with me. Can the angels really feel my pain? How long has this nightmare been going on? Had it really been only two days ago when Gib, my husband, noticed the odd swelling in her neck? So many doctor’s appointments, tests, rush to surgery and then that word - MALIGNANT. As we sat with the doctor after the surgery, his words ricocheted through me striking pain and burning themselves into the depth of my being. “Malignant, malignant, malignant,” was all I heard. The walls swayed and the antiseptic smell of the hospital turned my stomach into a churning pit. He had said that word so calmly that there must have been a mistake. He must not be talking about Teri. I withdrew my mind from his gentle words. Perhaps, if I refused to listen, it wouldn’t be true. I could get up and run out the exit, and the nightmare would stop. Right? Why were there tears on my face when I didn’t believe a word he was saying? Why was Gib pulling me into his chest if this was all wrong? My anguish was so great I wasn’t aware of anyone around me until I heard our pastor speak, and I looked up to see the surgeon was gone. “Tina, he didn’t remove all hope. He said many positive things. Do you hear me, Tina?” Pastor Wohler gently spoke. “I don’t want to hear any of it,” I half shouted. “I don’t want to hear any of it.” Mary, my dearest friend, slipped from her chair and walked down the hall to the restroom. I knew her own pain was too great to stay and watch mine. Gib, Pastor, and I just sat in silence. Deep Silence.