Rain, rain, go away.

Come again another day.

I stand trial in every court of the law for being a nuisance to society. Three counts of inconvenience for flooding, two counts of assault for hailing, and one count for falling from the sky. These are all charges against me for being me; for that, I stand trial to die.

On the count of collecting in unlawful mass assemblies . . . guilty.

“But you don’t understand,” I cry. “Millions become one. Despite our different shapes and sizes, we droplets recognize each other as our brothers and sisters. Underneath all the guises we are made of the same matter. You see, we have perfected unity.”

I plead innocent. “Just try to understand me.”

On the count of inconveniencing the public with your mess . . . guilty.

"Rain," they say, "is what is wrong with the world. It mixes with soil and creates our mud. And our mud we know, is what tracks into our kitchen floors and bathroom tiles. Worst of all, the newly purchased carpet. Rain is what unravels our neatly pressed, carefully set-up hair. It makes the straight poofy and the dry wet. Dampening our perfected perfections and revealing us in our natural forms. Rain is a rebel. It does not conform. Therefore, it must go."

“But no!” I have to scream now above the uproar of chanting death cries. “Aren’t I what cleanses you? Aren’t I what refreshes you? I wash away every burden of yesterday and roll onto skin and metal, causing them to glisten in the light. I make you shine! You cannot deny that I am a gift wrapped from God, for I am tied in Christmas wrapping paper with a rainbow. I wash away doubt!"

On the count of failing to conform to earthly ways . . . guilty.

“Yes, I am defiant. Yes, I fall where I want to fall. Yes, I form puddles where I may. I cannot be blamed for your categorical way of living. Children seem to get it. They dance in my creations and splash with cheer. But then we teach them to chant me away. To clench their coats tighter and “come in, come in from that terrible weather!” Me! Terrible! To shut me out and refuse to breathe me in.

You need me. Ask the grass that grows the river that flows and the people of old who knew I was a life-giving source. A way out of drought. I wash away doubt! You need me, but you don’t want to see me.”

As I’m carried away in handcuffs, already made guilty from the start, I challenge you to do me a favor:

Next time it rains, breathe me in. Remember me. And breathe me in.

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" At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me." Matthew 18:1-5 NIV.

Here's to humbling ourselves like a child, Little One.