Then the rain washed it away about an hour and a half after we finished.
Arizona obviously does not have very many big rainstorms so this one, while being unfortunate in its timing, was something fun and different. As I walked barefoot in the warm runoff and let the rain-pellets hit me over and over again I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of the situation. I love the rain. I do. I love the feel of it, the smell of it, the taste and sound of it all. And I love the way it makes everything fresh and clean and fantastic. In Texas (and yes, I know people hate when I start sentences this way, but oh well) the rain comes down in buckets to drench everything in fantastic great big Texas style. I miss that. This is my sister when we were dancing in a classic Texas rainstorm.
Still, it was hilariously tragic that the rain washed all of our efforts away.
I feel like this is my life, though. As a single adult building myself and my life and my future I travel from place to place and group to group, spend months and months building fantastic friendships and relationships that I treasure only to move away or stay while others move away or marry and move on until yet again I am left with a blank driveway slate to fill yet again with colorful people and experiences. Maybe this is how everyone feels, married or not, but for me, I feel like my life is in a constant state of construction (kind of like the highways in Utah) with building up and taking out and re-positioning all over the place.
Taken in the abstract, this process is exhausting. Truly it is. To start over again and again and again is not easy, it is usually lonely, and sometimes it's not even fun. Still, constant recreation has its virtues too. I have met dozens of amazing people from all over the country who I love. In interacting with so many people and forcing myself outside of my comfort zone I have learned valuable things about myself that I am both grateful and averse to acknowledge. Being able to paint my life again and again allows me to slowly but steadily do what I can to build myself into the person I want to be instead of just the person I am, even if I end up smudged and misshapen along the way.
Plus, there is something to be said for the experience of painting a mural, even if the rain leaves us with little to show for it. Maybe my returning roommate did not see our work of art but we did. I learned how to draw eyebrows with sidewalk chalk. That is something. We laughed and smiled and squatted and played. That is absolutely something. Loving people, even if they aren't people I can't keep, has a cleansing affect even more powerful than the rain for me. I leave each place, or perhaps more accurately I leave each person less blemished than I was before I came. So even if I end up alone or blank or even a little bit bewildered and lost at the end of each adventure it's alright because I also end up more somehow. I end up someone who can draw an eyebrow. I end up someone who can smile a little easier than I could before. I end up someone with stronger quads from squatting in the driveway.
So let the mural begin again. I will conquer this new fresh slate because I have a Heavenly Father who knows how to paint perfectly, and while my scribbles probably inspire much more amusement than awe, if I allow Him He can paint me into a masterpiece. And yes it will be a little lonely, and of course I will make many mistakes, and certainly sometimes I will look at the chalky mess and wonder what in the world I have done and how could I have possibly messed everything up so thoroughly. But that's alright, because for times like that I can say, thank goodness for a good Texas-style rainstorm!
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