New growth on a pine tree that we saw on our walk today. Made me think of resurrection hope.

It rained earlier this week.

In California, my drought-prone, beloved home, rain is almost always a cause for celebration, especially since March was one of the driest and warmest on record. So a little rain at the end of a dry, warm month was very welcome. Longtime readers might remember that I have a goal of walking a certain number of steps each day. I try not to be fanatical about it, but sometimes? I am a little fanatical about it. So the other day, when it was finally raining, I got home after a long day of work and realized that my step count was nowhere near my goal. It was raining, but not very much, right? It was barely sprinkling, actually, and Biscuit needed to go for a walk, too. Sure, my phone said that heavy showers were expected soon, possibly with thunder, but so far the sky looked friendly, and isn’t the forecast often mistaken?

The forecast was not mistaken.

Of course, we had reached the point on our walk that was furthest from our house when the sky opened and the rain started in earnest. We picked up our pace. My leisurely stroll turned into a jog—and then into an outright run. We got wet. Would it be fair to partially blame Biscuit for our soaking? He was the one who stopped every ten feet to sniff and pee, sniff and pee, during the first part of our walk, when the clouds were still sprinkling lightly and I was mentally congratulating myself for getting outside and walking in spite of the forecast.

Eventually we made it to the post office and were shivering and dripping under the covered porch, staring at the rain that was coming down in buckets. I grabbed my mail, which would surely be soaked by the time we ran the rest of the way home. Home wasn’t far, but in a deluge of water? It felt like a mile.

But here is a lovely thing about living in my small town. Our town’s postmaster was at the back of the post office, closing up for the day. She came out, saw me standing there clutching Biscuit’s leash and my mail, and said, “Do you need a ride?”

“Biscuit’s pretty wet,” I said.

(I was too, actually.)

“I don’t mind,” she replied.

I picked up Biscuit, and we jumped into her little Honda. We were ferried the short distance from the post office to our house—door to door service. Yes, we were wet. But what a thing to be grateful for this week, that we were able to get a walk in at all. And more that when we needed it most, somebody was there to help us get home without getting any wetter.

So I am grateful today for that rain and for the blessing of a ride home. I am grateful that there was cinnamon and cream for my hot tea, and that it warmed me up after I shed my wet clothes and dried off Biscuit. My daughter will be home in a few days from her five months of traveling in Asia: Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam. My youngest is getting ready to go to Japan for a semester abroad in the fall. I have a cell phone, and people who love me are only a phone call or short drive away. I live in a town where you can get a ride from a neighbor in a torrential downpour. And today, especially—I am grateful for Easter and resurrection hope.

I do not know why this beautiful chicken crossed the road. We ran into her on our walk today, which was not rainy at all. Biscuit was curious! I think they could have been friends.