Dancing in the Rain

A thunderstorm interrupted the quiet September night. Gathering at the small farm in Jennings County over Labor Day weekend has been a tradition for my wife’s family for forty years. There are campers and glampers and a few who stake out a place in an old A-frame structure my father-in-law built years ago thinking perhaps one day he would retire there. As for me, I opt to drive back up the road to the nearest hotel at bedtime. I prefer a bed that is soft, a room that is cool, and a toilet that flushes.  For that reason, I slept soundly through that night’s storm. I did not know it even occurred until the next morning when parking lot puddles surprised me as we made our way to the car.

Those who chose to sleep at the farm described it as a storm to remember. It did not last long, but was intense during the few minutes it unleashed itself on the area. The thunder claps sounded as though they were right on top of their sleeping bags. Lightning turned the country darkness into bursts of white light. Some of the tent dwellers decided to sleep in their cars rather than remain in their soaked quarters. The rain was hard enough and the wind strong enough that those in sleeping bags underneath an open shelter house could not find a dry place to relocate beneath its roof. Everyone was scurrying for dry ground. Well, almost everyone.  Those in campers and the A-frame were fine. So were the dancers.

I know. “Dancers” is not a group usually named among camping crews, but reportedly there were dancers this night. During one of the lightning flashes someone observed a few people dancing and playing in the rain out in the middle of a grassy field. They were oblivious to the lightning. The wind did not faze them. Getting absolutely soaked by the downpour created no worries at all. In fact, that was part of the fun. They were delighting in the moment.

It reminded me of a weekend at the beach in my late twenties when Judi and I were dating. We had had a full day in the sun, brought to an end by a late afternoon pop up thunderstorm. We sat in the car waiting for it to pass, or at least lessen before starting our drive. In our dash for cover we had not had time to brush the sand off our bodies or change out of our swimsuits. Without warning, Judi hopped out of the car into the rain and began using the downpour as her personal shower to rinse as much sand as possible from her bathing suit. I thought she was nuts at the time, but in some ways, it was a reasonable plan.

I remembered that beach episode while hearing about the rain dancers at the farm. It made me wonder, what makes staying dry better than getting soaked? We carry umbrellas, rain coats, and sometimes even ponchos, all in an effort to stay dry in the storm. Phrases like, “that person doesn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain” underscores that perspective. I have told Judi on multiple occasions that I would rather not get wet unless the water is hot and I am not wearing clothes. That pretty much limits things to baths, showers, and Jacuzzis, which to me, is a winning combination. Does this mindset come from lessons we learned long ago when parents tried to keep us safe and healthy? Is it our own experience of disliking the clingy nature of wet clothes stuck to our skin? Did some council take a vote to decide that “dry” is spiritually or morally better than “wet?”

Thinking about why we often choose to avoid the rain I had to wonder what other habits and impulses we have where the default setting is to avoid something altogether rather than risk stretching our experience. And what, pray tell, might we be missing because of it?  What if I had never boarded an airplane because if God had meant for us to fly we would have wings? I would have missed the thrill of flight, not to mention the opportunity to travel a wider path. What if I had never spoken to a stranger because of their appearance, ethnicity, or education level because it is safer to associate with those I think I know because I believe they are just like me? I would have been passing on wonderful friendships and enriching experiences. What if getting soaked in the rain is actually enjoyable, particularly if you are dancing with those you love?

I recently went river kayaking with a small group. From my few previous encounters with small watercraft, I knew that my biggest dread was getting wet when water splashes into the vessel. It is silly when you think about it. Getting at least a little wet is almost a certainty in these conditions. This time I prepared for it. I wore bathing trunks and water shoes. I walked into the river and got good and wet before I ever got into the kayak. That way the next splash would not seem like such a violation of sacred dry space.  I am not ready to dance in the rain just yet, but sometimes the best strategy is simply to get a little wet.

There are probably a few other areas where we could benefit from taking a step back from our default reactions or assumptions in order to know the joy that can come with experiencing something new.