Original painting “‘Into Each Life…’ ~ Chickadee & Magnolia Liliiflora Blossoms,” copyright Susan A. Walton

American Henry Wadsworth Longfellow pointed out in a verse from his poem “The Rainy Day” that “into each life some rain must fall,” and this is most certainly true. Everyone gets a soaking at some point or another, and some of us seem to get doused much more often than others. Sometimes life’s downpours seem like an overwhelming torrent, and we either hang on for dear life with hope that it must end eventually, or despair - against logic - that it will go on forever. In the latter case, we may contemplate just letting go and be washed away in storm of life to end the pain; but more often our troubles aren’t as insurmountable as they seem.

Do you know that there are always going to be others that wish they could exchange their struggles for ours, that see us as the lucky ones? It is hard to believe, but true. It is harder to see this truth if we self isolate and focus only on ourselves. This is why I always advise people who are depressed to go volunteer somewhere, or to help someone, anyone, whenever the feeling of despair or disappointment intrudes and tries to dominate our thinking. If we set our own struggles aside for a while, and lend a hand to others (however weak or injured that hand or we may be,) we will be given a whole new perspective that reveals that we aren’t as bad off as we initially thought. We may even learn better ways to cope by seeing how others manage their problems or navigate in their own stormy seasons.

If we take the philosophical and common sense position of accepting the rain as a necessary part of growth, a learning experience, God’s way of telling us to stop dwelling in sorrow or self pity, then we will learn in time what a blessing it was to be rained on, or even be pelted by it.

So take in the long winter and heavy spring rain when it comes; with patience like the magnolia trees, which in their season produce glorious flowers followed by a canopy of summer green where birds will come to forage in dappled sunlight, shade, and peace. That blessed rain is critical to bringing it all about.

And, speaking of birds, note that whenever it rains they do not sulk; they instead go out in the downpour joyously and deliberately. They bathe in it, flitting from branch to branch or stone to stone with wings extended, stretching this way and that to make sure the rain gets to every spot. And when they have done that, they fly to a place where they can observe the world and keep an eye out for its dangers with calm resilience, often joining with others, and begin to methodologically preen each and every feather, not only their own but sometimes another’s, as the storm rages on. The trees may sway and creak and even at times snap in the wind, but birds take it all without drama or concern, going about the truly important business of tending to their plumage as if they have no other care in the world. They don’t fret about what could be, or about what was, or about what they cannot control. They were made for this day, and they know and trust their Maker like they know and trust their own wings.

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See the poem “The Rainy Day,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

See the biographical book “Cross of Snow: A Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow," published in June 2020,” by Nicholas A. Basbane.