Photo taken November 4, 2008 and uploaded just now because it seemed appropriate.

I’m a total idiot. I just realized that the sound I’ve been hearing for over an hour was rain on the roof. Rain, my favorite thing! That thing we hardly ever get in Southern California! I’ve been sitting here with the windows closed, wasting the chance to listen to the rain!

I don’t know why I love rain so much. I have done for as long as I can remember. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that when I was in grade school and it rained, we didn’t have to go outside during recess and I could stay inside and read my book. Maybe it’s because I’m a Pisces. Who knows.

I camped out during a rainstorm once. When I was a counselor at Camp Luther the summer after my freshman year of college I co-led a canoe camp on a float trip one week. My fellow counselor Matt and I were the “adults” (I was 19, I think he was 21) in charge of fourteen middle-schoolers as we canoed and camped along the river.

The second night we were out, we set up camp on a large island in the middle of the river. We were just finishing up a post-supper Bible study when the clouds rolled in and the wind whipped up. We all raced for our tents as the rain started to come down. I remember praying with the two frightened girls sharing my tent. We stretched our arms up to keep the tent from collapsing on our heads as the storm roared and told jokes to stay calm. It was crazy. We all fell asleep while it was still raining.

In the morning the sun was shining and everyone was okay. The river, which had been lazy and about 18 inches deep the day before, had risen to a swiftly-moving 40 inches. Also, we were missing five of our eight canoes and most of our lifejackets. Matt and I had a whispered conference about what to do, and decided that he would take two of the older boys and one of the canoes downriver to the next town to call camp and send someone to collect us off the island.

I knew we wouldn’t be stranded long. We were only a couple of miles from the next town, and even though the river had risen I knew we could cross it if we had to. But the 12 kids who’d been left in my care were understandably spooked, and keeping them calm was a job and a half. We were all glad to see an airboat headed our way after a couple of hours.

The airboat’s owner ferried us and our belongings (two watertight five-gallon buckets per person, one for a sleeping bag and one for clothing, plus camping gear and food) to a farmhouse on the opposite bank. The camp van met us there. The program director greeted me sheepishly since I’d been reluctant to lead the canoe camp and he’d assured me nothing would go wrong. Famous last words.

We found out later that it was one of the worst storms in years. Huge trees were uprooted all over the area and there was damage done by flooding and wind. When we got back to camp we saw that some damage had been sustained there as well.

But we all made it back to camp safe and sound. The camp director and a pastor did a debriefing session with us and our campers, wanting to be sure that no one had been scarred for life by the experience. On the contrary, everyone seemed quite cheerful about the whole thing once it was all over. I think everyone was proud of having come through the storm unscathed, literally. Matt and I were a little worried we would get chewed out by the director for having done something wrong, but all he said to us was, “What have we learned from this experience? That we tie the canoes together at night, and tie them to a tree!” Then he congratulated us on handling things so calmly.

I remember the power of that storm vividly, the sound and feel of the rain lashing our tent. I remember waking the next morning and poking my head out, startled to find that the river was several feet closer to us than it had been the night before.

I remember the peace and freshness of the day that followed.

It’s still raining as I type this. I think I’ll crack open a window in my room so I can listen to the rain as I fall asleep.