It has been raining for days now. And here in Southern California, we are not used to this perpetual rain, this unending greyness.

I have a heaviness in my soul these days. As I watch the steady drip from the rooftops, and the world darkens and brightens, I feel as though this weather has been teaching me something. I am learning to be slow, patient, and unhurried.

And then, between one rain shower and the next, my camellias open.They bloom as if the weather belongs to them, as if they were waiting for this rain. And as they bloom, waterlogged and heavy, I am reminded that we can also bloom while holding heavy things.

Maybe that’s what this stretch of rain is teaching me, that melancholy doesn’t cancel out beauty, that sorrow can soften into something almost sacred when held with gentleness. That even in a week of dripping gutters and gray mornings, something can still unfurl quietly and gracefully.

So I sit with the rain. I sit with the heaviness. And I let the camellias remind me that tenderness still grows in the wettest, weariest seasons.

~Staci Lee