A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart. She must have been 6-years-old, this beautiful red-haired, freckle-faced image of innocence1. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes2 over the top of rain gutters3, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout4. We all stood there under the awning5 and just inside the door of the Wal-Mart.
We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized6 by rainfall. I got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve7 from the worries of my day.
The little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in: "Mom, let's run through the rain," she said.
"What?" Mom asked.
"Let's run through the rain!" she repeated.
"No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute and repeated: "Mom, let's run through the rain."
"We'll get soaked
