Saying Amen to the Rain

I awoke early this morning, before I wanted to, and was finished sleeping. I felt drawn out, to move, somewhere, so I pulled on some shorts and headed out the front door into the quiet. I smelled the rain before I saw the wet sidewalk, before I heard the faint drops of the mist, before I felt them on my skin. I think it was the rain that woke me.

Not the sound, but the feeling. Like there was a mood around my house, in my neighborhood, that needed someone to see it, to say “Amen.” This morning I was the one chosen to say “Amen” to the rain.

It’s ten minutes later, and I’m at my desk at the office, which is dark except for the light of my monitor and the wet grey of the morning sighing through the open balcony door behind me. It’s a perfect day for robins and cardinals, whose deepest “Amens” repeat and repeat above a bed of less distinct chirping from the little birds who merely made the chorus.

Do the birds sing from worship, from acknowledgement of wonder so great that the song is simply drawn from them by rightness? Or are those sort of “Amens” left just for us?

And what of the “Amens” themselves? What do perfect misty mornings value in the word that they’d wake a man to have it spoken?

I think our words have power. To bless and to curse. To note or to disregard. To celebrate or to condemn. Perhaps, even, our lives make the most sense in light of how we choose and use our words. As God made the world, He took the time to call each step “good,” and us He called “very good.” Then He gave Adam the task of naming things. When He called the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, it was to gather to worship.

It’s not just misty mornings that crave a word from us. All of creation, and even the Creator, anticipate and receive our blessings.

We bless in response to blessing. We love in response to love. We give thanks in response to what we’re given. Could it be that our greatest joy is found in saying “Amen” to our role as agents of blessing?

Is that not what I do when I click the “Like” button beside your photo or your comment on Facebook? Is that not what I do when I retweet you? Do I bless you when I make a point of really seeing you, really listening? Do I play the role of my own greatest joy when I convey my respect, my love, my wish that your life would be filled with good things?

The “Like” button is easier, for sure. There is little risk. Telling you I love you is harder. But there is a way to share a deeper blessing with even less risk than the “Like” button.

I pray. For my co-workers, for my employer, for my clients (some of whom actually share prayer requests with me now, even though prayer and my sort of faith is not their thing – I think maybe our desire to be blessed, and the rightness of being blessed, is a deeper thing than the way we ascribe to our various religious vestiges). In my prayers, I explore what I love about each person, and a certain vision for them, a good desire, takes shape. A quiet morning rain awakens something in me on their behalf, draws me into it, and after I feel it for a bit, I say “Amen.”

I’m not sure branding is much different from prayer, by the way. And I don’t think I connect the two just because that’s my approach. After all, what else is a real branding engagement but a choice to truly see a person or a company (which is just a collection of people gathered for a purpose), to move quietly into the mist of their morning, to note how their particular instance is worth celebrating, to muse a bit upon the beauty of what is there – which is always the reason why we choose the brands we choose – and to invite a shared “Amen” from anyone who’s inspired by the same misty morning?

The noise and the heat and the bustle of the day come later. Tactics follow on. Marketing plans and sales meetings and financial forecasting and product development are all part of the mix, and sometimes they get loud enough to seem like the important stuff. But within every company, every campaign, every person, and every day, there is a quiet morning rain, and enduring “Amen” to something blessed, and blessable.

How cool is that the world is set up this way? How blessed are we that we get to be people who bless a world that revels in our blessing?

I love that I was awakened earlier than I’d wanted this morning – I love the reminder of how good it feels to say “Amen” to the wonders of this life, and to the people and challenges in it. Today I will focus on my words, on the misty morning wonder in what I encounter, and I will choose my own delight by speaking blessing into this place.

May a similar delight be yours.