During a particularly dry period here in Texas, when wildfires raged and torched whole neighborhoods, The Maker humbled me to pray for rain.  Lo and behold, a week later, two clashing fronts produced spotty, lush green blobs on radar that raced through town most of the day.

Forecasters unanimously declared activity would end by 6 p.m., which was ideal for me because I needed to walk across the street for a new tea kettle to replace the one I attempted but failed to fix.  

A little after 6, I opened my front door to make my way to DD's, only to be greeted with a deep roar, which I first mistook for an aircraft landing at a port not far from me.  Yet, when the noise abruptly ceased, I was certain it could only be thunder. 

My initial impulse was to gripe and cuss.  I was annoyed at how the forecasters made such a blunderous prediction--and in unison at that.  Nevertheless, I remembered how I'd literally requested divine intervention for precipitation, so I suppressed my urge to bellyache.  

I checked the radar on my phone, and I saw the green and yellow blob would pass over quickly, and I made my way out again when it did.  But, as I made it no more than ten steps down the sidewalk, the disorienting, glowing flicker of lightning abruptly illuminated the entire atmosphere around me.  I checked the radar again and saw a newly formed and mostly yellow blob racing for my area.

I raced to DD's to beat the blob.  Judging by the speed of the storm, I calculated I'd have just enough time to walk there, grab one of the dozens of tea kettles they had in stock every time I'd visited, and walk back to the shelter of my humble abode before being zapped into oblivion.  Tragically, however, I made it to DD's just in time to be met with an empty shelf where the abundance of tea kettles once sat.

I was baffled and angry at the site.  Why had so many of them disappeared in the week since I'd last visited? I could have understood had it been the holidays or something, but it was a random Friday in September. 

Again, the urge to physically and verbally express my frustration swelled in me like a coastal river mouth in a storm surge.  And, yet, I was gently reminded, this is what I'd literally begged for from The Almighty, Himself.

Ollie's had kettles, too, and they were right down the street.  I looked at the impending blob, and it appeared just far away enough that I could make another successful dash.  That hope was dashed, however, when I stepped outside and could feel the consistent, teeny taps beginning to dot my clothes.  I knew that, if the rain was close enough, the lightning was close enough, too.

So, I, instead, reserved a more urgent dash for home, with the sprinkle converting into an all-out downpour when I was about 20 steps away from the porch. 

I was stuck in the house again until Mother Nature decided I shan’t.  But, while I waited for the drops to cease, I felt compelled to further examine the object that'd been the cause of such drama that evening.  Upon doing so, I noticed there was a screw on the handle I hadn't seen initially.  The screw had become undone over time, due to my constant pouring and setting it down, and all I needed to do to fix the kettle was to screw it back into the fixture.

By this time, the downpour had become a monstrous roar, and so I decided to invest all the remaining energy I had in getting to Ollie's to revive the kettle I assumed was a goner.

After several attempts with several drivers that couldn't screw at the angle I needed, I found one in a toolbox my brother-in-law had got me for my birthday a decade ago. 

I screwed and secured the broken lid back in place.  And, my kettle, the one who'd supplied me with countless sessions of caffeinated rituals, was resurrected. 

And then, it hit me.  Had the rain not stopped me, I would have wasted $25.99 on a tea kettle I didn't even need.  

Had I focused my energy on being disgruntled, I would have made emotional, knee-jerk reactions by just ordering one on Amazon or driving somewhere to buy it.  Even so, because I was willing to accept all the unforeseen inconveniences that come with having a prayer answered, another I had was fulfilled before I could even ask for it. 

When I think about it, complaining has never served me; it's only served my ego.  And, your ego is not your amigo.

From the Soul, 

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📕“Epiphany #9: Why I/You Shouldn’t Complain About the Rain” is a piece from my upcoming published anthology, “Return from the Pale Trail: Gifts to Humanity We’ve Been Taught to Forget.” I’m ecstatic to share this wonderful piece of literature with the family. I hope you all enjoy. Until then, feel free to check out my other published materials.