Dancing in the Rain

Or eating ice cream instead of attending a funeral.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. - Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 4

Some weeks leave your heart feeling a little threadbare.

This was one of those weeks.

By the time Friday arrived, I felt emotionally spent. Then came a women’s event at church that evening, followed by the funeral of our dear neighbor, Mr. Charles, the next morning. If you read last week’s newsletter, you know what a special place he held in our hearts.

It wasn’t exactly the ending to the week I would have chosen.

Sometimes life simply feels heavy.

Then, in the middle of my busy Friday, I received a message from a dear friend back home in Missouri. She had once been Maddie’s preschool teacher before she became our babysitter, and eventually, one of those precious people who simply becomes family.

She, her husband, and their two kids were vacationing in Florida and wondered if we might have time to get together.

My heart sank.

I wanted to say yes so badly, but between setting up a book and earring booth at church that evening and Mr. Charles’s funeral the next morning, I couldn’t imagine squeezing in a visit.

I asked where they were staying, wondering how we might squeeze in a quick hug.

“We’re kinda far away. We’re in Ormond Beach.”

My heart smiled.

Ormond Beach may be an hour away, but it just happens to be the city where our church is located—the very place we were already headed that evening.

Instead of missing each other entirely, she joined us for the women’s event, and afterward our two families shared dinner together. We laughed, caught up on life, hugged goodbye, and drove home with hearts just a little lighter than they had been a few hours earlier.

That night, we were up until 3 am dealing with other issues, because life still happens, even after a surprise blessing.

When we crawled out of bed a few hours later, we were beyond exhausted, and after much thought, we made a hard decision.

We didn’t attend Mr. Charles’s funeral. We gave ourselves permission to rest and regroup.

Then we spent the afternoon with our Missouri friends before they headed home.

Their two young children came along, and it was a joy to show them around our little town. We visited the baseball stadium, and we stopped by the house where Jackie Robinson once stayed—a highlight for their son, who loves baseball and the movie 42. We also took them to see several of the downtown buildings featured in the movie My Girl, which was especially meaningful because their daughter was named after the movie’s main character.

We even enjoyed ice cream with them at one of our local favorites.

Sometimes you have to dance in the rain.

Sometimes you have to eat ice cream instead of going to a funeral.

I know that’s exactly what Mr. Charles would have told us to do. I can hear him saying, “You did exactly the right thing. Go on living. Don’t take your family for granted.”

So we made the choice. To love on our chosen family. To make the memories. To embrace every moment God gives us.

That didn’t erase the difficult week we’d had. It didn’t lessen the ache of saying goodbye to a dear neighbor. Grief doesn’t disappear simply because joy walks into the room.

But we made choices that encouraged our hearts.

I’ve often noticed that God’s sweetest blessings don’t always arrive after the storm has passed.

Sometimes they arrive while the rain is still falling.

Ecclesiastes tells us there is "a time to weep and a time to laugh." We often think we must choose one or the other, but sometimes God lovingly gives us both on the very same day.

Friday night, at the women’s event, I paused for 45 precious moments to lay my burdens down and worship the God who gives and takes away. The God who is good no matter what. Every song we sang touched and ministered to my heart as if they were written just for me. As tears streamed down my face and my arms lifted in the air, the words to the song See a Victory washed over me. One of its most powerful images is that our praise becomes the very thing that defeats the enemy.

What a beautiful picture.

Our enemy would love for discouragement to become our dwelling place. He whispers that God has forgotten us, that the darkness will never lift, and that hope is gone.

But worship changes the atmosphere of our hearts. It reminds us of what grief tries to make us forget: God is still good. God is still faithful. God is still writing the story. And hope is always ours for the taking.