The rain this week just keeps on comin’.

Daisy, who at three-and-a-half describes most things in terms of “favorite” and “not my favorite,” prefers a clear blue sky.

Yesterday I reminded her of the ways rain is a gift: It helps the plants to grow, it gives people and animals water to drink, it makes puddles we can jump and splash in, it plays music for us on the porch roof. She looked at me skeptically in the rearview mirror and then returned her gaze to the streams running down her window.

“But rain is not my favorite.”

This typically leads to a conversation about thunder—also not her favorite.

These soggy days have been somewhat a relief, though I too usually prefer sunshine.

The week has required time to think and process and be quiet, and the dreary weather seems to say, “Go ahead and do that. Take your time.”

Rainy mornings have translated into slower starts. The aforementioned youngest daughter has slept late, almost but not quite to the point of me needing to wake her in time for school.

•••

This morning it’s pouring and she hasn’t yet stirred, so I take the rare opportunity to climb back into bed with a cup of coffee and some favorite fiction for a few minutes after Dan and Ev head out the door.

I have plenty I could be doing and immediately feel guilty.

I’m getting back into bed at 8 in the morning on a Thursday. 

But no, I’m not going to let the enemy convince me it’s wrong to receive these little gifts from my good Father.

So I say, “Thank you, God, for this rainy morning,” and I sip and read for a few minutes.

And when my little daughter finally rouses and wanders into the bedroom, rubbing her bleary eyes beneath overgrown bangs, I am ready for her.

“Good morning, Mommy.”

31 days of paying attention is a month-long mission to document and give thanks for the everyday, mundane, and beautiful. It’s a series I’m writing for Write 31 Days, a yearly challenge in which bloggers pick one topic and write a post on that topic every day in October. Thanks for reading along! 

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