The recent rains have been amazing. We are nearly at the end of the rainy season, which stretches from May to October, and it is as if the clouds are making sure we know what we will be missing once the aptly named dry season begins. The meteorologists tell us that all this water is due to El Niño. Here in San Lucas, people think it has more to do with God than with catchy meteorological names.

     Normally, the rains begin after lunch and fall until early evening. The day’s work therefore begins quite early, for many people at 5:00 a.m., in order to be finished before the world becomes drenched. Thankfully, the soil here is a sandy volcanic ash, draining quickly so the ground is free of puddles and mud by morning. Typically, it rains almost every day of this season, following the dry-morning, wet-afternoon pattern.

     That has not been true of this year.

     There were many days earlier in this rainy season that were dry. At times it did not rain for several weeks. Some crops were damaged or lost from the lack of water.

     Now, in early October, all that has changed. Tropical storms have been crawling up to these highlands from the southern, Pacific coast, drenching us nearly twenty-four hours per day. We are often in the clouds themselves. Everything is damp; towels and clothes never dry. The common cold has become a common crisis as none of us can escape the saturated mountain air or the streets-turned-rivers.

     Some people had lost crops because of the drought; now, some are having their crops wash away. Livestock are becoming ill. There have been landslides as loose soil on steep mountainsides fails to shoulder either the weight or the sheer quantity of the never-ceasing water.

     The level of Lake Atitlán, which borders San Lucas, has been steadily dropping for a number of years. A new local joke is that these last two weeks of rain are more than making up for the last ten years of decline.

     Of course, not everything is bad with these rains. The sound is soothing, tranquil. Climbing into the hillsides to work in my friend Mario’s coffee field, I have been enveloped in clouds. There, where there was once a vista overlooking fifty or more miles of gorgeous mountains and volcanoes, the world now drifts away into a serene sea of cotton. Back in my room, the windy squalls are a beautiful, musical backdrop, perfect for writing, playing guitar, sipping hot chocolate, or falling asleep, whether at night or during a mid-day siesta.

     The millions upon millions of sometimes droning, sometimes percussive, sometimes chaotic droplets, the gurgling of rivulets in the streets, and the waterfalls from the roofs – all these combine with the wind to create a beckoning, an invitation to pause, ponder, relax, reflect, and remember that despite all that has been and all that will be, all that we really ever have is this present moment in which to live, to love, to serve, and to give thanks and praise to God. The world may wash away, but God will always remain close.