It’s as black as a cave outside my back porch. Early morning. A small lamp gives off a soft glow that defines the room, but from where I sit the light does not seem to penetrate beyond the screens between each post. Like an aquarium holds its water within itself, the darkness completely contains the light around me.

To an owl who might be looking in, I am a fish on display to his world.

It’s been a long hot summer. Suffocating humidity. We’ve had several scattered showers over the last couple of months, but it has never been enough. When the rains did come, the sun would bake the moisture out of the ground before it could soak in. My plants have been wilting. My grass looks like the 50-yard line on the high school football field.

But right now, there’s a steady rainfall at work. It’s not a flooding rain but what my dad would call a good rain. The hay fields will be better for it. The ground will drink. The creek will run free again.

The sound of this rain is a decibel or two below thunderous. I can hardly hear myself think over the pounding of raindrops on the wet woodland floor. The metallic gurgling of the gutter is making a familiar music that takes me back to my lazy childhood days stuck inside with nowhere to go.

Children do not appreciate the rain. There’s no baseball when it rains. No wandering through the woods with a BB gun. No making of roads with Tonka trucks in the back yard. Rain chases a boy inside where there is nothing but boredom.

My perspective on rain has changed over the years. Growing trees for a living had a lot to do with that. The connection between soil, rain and life occupied a rather large portion of my day-to-day concerns. No rain meant worry. A good rain like this one meant freedom.

Now that I am retired, porch sitting while it rains may be near the top of my list of favorite things to do.

I take a sip of coffee and allow my head to rest against the back of the couch. Just listening. Taking it all in. Straining to hear every detail. Allowing every sound to wash over me. I am reminded of something like Amicalola Falls. It is an ancient sound that transcends the life I live, and I am glad for it.

I think it’s true that a good rain not only cleanses the earth, but it purifies a man’s soul. But he has to stop and listen to it, or else the magic is lost.

When the Book says that the rain falls on the good and evil alike, most people think of life’s hardships. We often take the rain to mean that no man is immune to trouble in this life.

And it’s true. Too much rain is troubling. We are all witnesses to the sorrow and heartbreak that is left behind in the aftermath of torrential flooding. There is unbearable tragedy that can come to us when the rain is unrelenting.

But it is a mistake to think that the sunshine is all roses. The sun may be perfect for a day at the beach, but it is also responsible for the driest deserts. The barren and lifeless landscapes on earth exist because the sun can be brutal in places where the rain seldom if ever falls.

Sunshine and rain. Both hold the magnificent and fleeting power of pain and pleasure. The key to appreciating both is in the embrace of the transition between the two. Part of what we like about the sunshine is that the rain is over. And, likewise, the most invigorating part of the rain is the relief it brings from the heat.

We are a fickle race, we humans; always complaining about the weather rather than being in awe of the gift that comes without regard to our moral indifference. Good or evil the sun shines. Righteous or unrighteous the rain falls. And by a Grace outside of ourselves, we live on.

Some of the best walks I’ve ever taken have been in the rain. I’ll put on the rain gear, my rubber boots, a cap, and pull the hood over my head. No umbrella. No rush. Just a slow walk that is so out of the ordinary that it becomes extraordinary.

In the rain, there is a hush in the woods that is akin to the quiet of a sanctuary. A man’s footsteps are almost silent. The wet leaves give way to the weight of a body without so much as a whisper. It becomes difficult to distinguish the sound of the rain patting against a rain jacket from the rain that slaps against oak and hickory. It is as if the rain swallows the sound of everything around it.

Footsteps in the creek are the same as the path among the trees. Quiet. Unintrusive. The rain allows a man to enter the woods virtually unnoticed.

On one occasion, years ago, I stood silently for over 20 minutes watching a buck and two doe forage on the acorns in a hardwood stand on the back of the farm. They were completely unaware, and I had the rain to thank for that small gift.

I have had in my life several seasons of nearly unbearable hardship and overwhelming joy. I cannot decide which one I should call the sun and which I should call the rain. Both have the capacity to undo me and to remake me, and both bring within themselves the advantage of unmistakable mercies.

I own no responsibility for either. Whether the sun warms me or the rain refreshes me is not of my own doing. Whether the sun parches me when I’m thirsty or the rain beats against me when I am down is not the result of my own will. It is only mine to choose how I will live, sunshine or rain.

I could think of this as a gloomy day, but I’d rather not. I honestly think this is the first entirely overcast and rainy day of the summer. And because it is August, I might also think that it’s about dang time. Add to that, the fact that the high temperature is 69°, not 94°, and I am anything but gloomy, right along with the rest of you.

The first hint of gray is beginning to show through the canopy of trees behind my house. What I have been hearing in the dark is becoming visible in the shadows of the morning. The ground is wet. The birds are silent. There are pockets of water standing in the low places. The creek has some real movement to it for the first time in a long time.

I walk over to the screened door, pushing it open and leaning my shoulder against the frame. I’m not interested today in going for a walk, but I cannot resist stretching out my arm to feel the rain against my skin.

And in that moment, I agree with my dad, “This is gonna be a good one.”