They don’t say, “You’re not supposed to do that.” But they look at you as if you were a puppy who just dug a hole in the mud.

They don’t say, “You’re crazy.” But they lean their bodies a little bit further back than normal to ensure the disease doesn’t spread.

They don’t say, “What was it like?” But they offer sympathy:

“I’d help you if I could.”

“Were you safe?”

“That’s a pain.”

But they don’t know.

They don’t know what it feels like to push the “rules” – to act in a way that ever since the age of twelve, we’re told we can’t.

They don’t know the feel of a hundred thousand raindrops – a hundred thousand blessings – falling upon you.

They don’t know the thrill of dodging puddles, branches, and old ladies.

They don’t know the rush that happens when your brakes get wet and you can’t stop quite as fast as you normally do.

They don’t know what it’s like to walk inside dripping wet and covered in mud with the biggest smile on your face possible.

They don’t know how alive I am.

But that’s OK.

I do. I’ve biked through the pouring rain, and I think I’m going to do it again.

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4 Comments, Add Yours Below

  1. Barb Moore on December 31, 2013

    Such fun and adventure!
    My mom (who was in her mid-70’s at the time) and I walked home to her apartment from ours, and on the way got caught in a downpour. We walked as quickly as we could (a semi-sprint?), but by the time we got the 2 blocks, were totally drenched. But we had fun and peeled off our wet clothes and threw them in the dryer — having just created a lovely memory together. (She passed away at 90 a year ago this past November.) Adventure on!

  2. Barb on January 1, 2014

    Thanks for the reminder that we can turn even the downpours of life into an adventure and blessing.

    Thanks for all your inspiring blogs of 2013. Looking forward to learning more in 2014!

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