As the last chemo treatment bag dripped, so did the rain on the window by our chair. It was Mom’s last day of chemotherapy. The treatments were no longer working, 
and as the skies emptied, it was as if heaven knew we were turning a painful corner on this cancer journey. We sat in the corner next to the big window, and Mom seemed mesmerized by each raindrop.
“Look at those huge drops, Lisa,” she said. “Each one is so different, so I want to savor each drop before I’m called home to heaven.”We both knew we were facing the fragility of life. When that happens, and heaven moves closer, it changes our perspective. Each of those raindrops represented a moment, a memory, and a treasured relationship made along the way. When we see our brief lives in the light of eternity, we learn to dance in the rain and feel every drop on our face.
It was a day of goodbyes—to the nurses, other patients, and in some ways to a hope that we knew had shifted. Our prayer for healing was now a hope of heaven, and the promise that the pain and uncertainty would soon be over. We made our way to the exit as the rain poured, and I grabbed my umbrella to cover Mom on the way to the car.
“Not today, Lisa. Not today.” Mom pushed my arm away and smiled. “I want to feel each raindrop on my face. I want to listen to the thunder and take it all in.” She walked to the car with her face looking up to heaven, enjoying the moment in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if death weren’t so close. As we got in the car—soaking wet—we laughed. No words, just healing laughter all the way home.
It was a cold rain, and when we were inside, I made sure Mom changed into dry clothes and then handed her a cup of tea and a blanket. As the storm raged outside that day, we snuggled under the covers together. A storm would also rage inside Mom in the coming weeks during her lastbattle with cancer, but at that moment, under the blanket and sipping tea, our heavenly Father sheltered us. Her foot rested beside mine and she patted my hand. She knew, for that moment, I was safe. She repeated what she had said so many times: “There is no better place to rest than inside the Father’s arms. His arms are bigger than any storm beating against the windowpane of life.”
After she died, I would face more storms without her, but what she poured into my life that day and on every step of the journey has sustained me. I have thought about that day many times and realized how true her words were: my heavenly Father shelters me from the storms of life. When clouds of sorrow gathered after Mom’s funeral, and then again with the recent passing of Dad, I sought reassurance in my heavenly Father’s presence. When the winds of worry tried to whip away my confidence during tough transitions, I glanced up to see my Father’s face. When floods of fear rose as I waited in the hospital for answers, I sensed my Father saying, “Come here, Lisa.” So, I climbed into His arms, leaned against His shoulder and whispered, “This is a beautiful place to be,”
His arms are my safe place. My home.
For those who have lost their foundation in the storm, I pray you will see and feel your heavenly Father’s presence and know that He is your shelter. In His arms, you can watch and listen to the rain and thunder, with assurance that everything will be okay. It is in this place you will feel the beat of God’s heart. Every heartbeat is for you, and you are safe.
Psalm 91:1-4