I hate humidity. I hate the way it makes everything around me feel sticky or the way it makes my hair turn into a fluffy, completely untamable frizz ball. I particularly hate humidity on cloudy, dull days. I don’t appreciate that sort of mixed message. The dreariness of those days lures me to the futon: to curl up under a blanket in a pair of fuzzy socks and a cup of coffee (maybe even some homework if I’m feeling motivated). Just when I think I’m positively approaching a miserable day, humidity has to come in and ruin it. Humidity keeps me as far away from blankets and futons as possible. It has me hot and uncomfortable and feeling claustrophobic. It has me begging for the rain to come and cool the air so I can breathe again.
If you’ve been anywhere near Grantham, Pennsylvania lately, I’m sure you have already arrived at the conclusion that this was not my week. In fact, this week has felt suppressing for reasons beyond the muggy atmosphere or my consecutively bad hair days. It was my fourth week of classes, which means that almost every one of my professors just so happened to feel that it was the perfect time for whopping exams and extensive projects that would account for twenty percent of my final grade. So I spent the week smothered—by deadlines and rubrics and looming tests and, of course, the stifling, thick air outside.
I love Friday afternoons. I love the feeling they bring: that feeling of relief—of being able to breathe in deeply because I’ve made it through. I love their message of hope: that a weekend awaits me and promises me rest and rejuvenation.
On my way to class today, sheets of rain poured down on Messiah’s hot, humid campus. In only minutes, the sidewalks flooded and water seeped up through my shoes, soaking my socks to assure a comfortable completion of my second exam of the day. Students were scrambling from building to building—some in full sprint, others barefoot with flip flops in hand desperate to reach refuge from the rain. By the time I made it to Boyer Hall, I realized that my umbrella did little to keep me dry. I was all ready to throw in the towel and name this the worst week ever, but then I noticed that the air was breathable. Even if it was only for those few minutes of pounding rain, I could feel the air cooling down. I took a deep breath and thanked God it was Friday. The rain always comes.
“He draws up the drops of water, which distill as rain to the streams; the clouds pour down their moisture and abundant showers fall on mankind. Who can understand how he spreads out the clouds, how he thunders from his pavilion? See how he scatters his lightning about him bathing the depths of the sea.” –Job 26: 27-30