Rainy Days.

My parents used to let my brother and I play in the street.

Before you think poorly of them, let me remind you that I obviously survived childhood in order to type this story for you.

My family played outside a lot. You could find a whiffle-ball tournament going on any given night in our baseball field shaped front yard. Second base was the big maple tree, and home plate was the edge of the driveway. Occasionally, we would cover the entire driveway in chalk-masterpieces. I learned the proper technique of free throw shooting, the art of Bocce ball, and the patience required for Croquet. Sometimes my brother and I would put on our rollerblades and play a game of hockey with these cool tiny nets. Oh, and for a while we tried our hand at lacrosse, which totally didn’t go as smoothly as we had hoped. 

We were awesome at lawn games. 

But, then it would rain.

Most kids would be bummed out, and move the party indoors for some TV time. Not us. Each time it rained, my brother and I would wait patiently for the rain to slow down so we could go back outside. We would walk down the sides of the street in the “streams” that flowed. The street we lived on sloped, and the water flowed past our house on its way to whatever drain water goes to.

Little plastic boats racing down the coursing river-road. 

Each time it rained, which wasn't often in our Western Oklahoma town, we found something new to do with the boats. Sometimes we'd race one another, and sometimes we'd work together. We would build obstacles out of mud, and redirect the river in such ways to make our boats' paths a little more challenging. 

We never let the bummer of a rainy day get us down. 

Instead, we turned lemons into lemonade. 

Now as a "grown up," I have encountered many rainy days. Days that don't involve real rain, but heartache and feeling like you don't even exist. I have to often remind myself of my days as a makeshift-sailor and boat racer. I have to remember the joy I found on those rainy days as a kid, and apply that same sense of optimism to the here and now. 

It's hard, let me tell you. Finding a positive amongst loads of negativity can be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. But you'll never find that needle if you don't make the attempt to look for it. 

And lately, I've been the world's worst at even looking for the positives.

You see, I'm not a "glass half full" type of person. I have to work hard to see the good things in life, and I often have to physically write down my blessings in order to see them. When I'm feeling down, I tend to count all of the anti-blessings in my life before I go to sleep. But Bing Crosby made it very clear to us in "White Christmas" that we need to be counting our blessings when we are worried and we can't sleep. 

I'm grateful my parents let my brother and I play in the street with our boats. It allowed me to be optimistic, even during a storm.

This week as I encounter more and more rain, I'm hoping to remember to get out my plastic boat and smoothly sail through the streams of life.