The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

By Al Carlos Hernandez on February 14, 2010

SAN FRANCISCO (Irreverent Homemaker @ Herald de Paris) - The cold, rainy, snowy weather has been oppressive. We struggle to get warm, stay dry and stay focused but the rosary of endless days of discomfort seems to rob you of your optimism. Every day for weeks now I wake up and the sky is gray, the pavement icy and wet. Miss Sally wants to go for a walk but doesn’t understand my reluctance. She’s starting to think that I’m lazy or losing my zest for life.

We are living in dreary times. Several of my sons have been laid off. It’s hard to hold your head up high when drama seems to come pouring down in celestial buckets. The rain and the snow are needed. In my optimism I view snow as clouds sleeping on the pavement. And my lawn has never looked better with all this rain . . . but puppies have to run and good men need to feed their little ones.

I’m forgetting how it feels to have the warm sun caressing my life-scarred face - the blow dryer funneled heat in my mug while blasting down the freeway riding in a pack of six Homie motorcycle maniacs on an endless summer afternoon. Did that ever happen or was it a dream? What if never happens again? And what if the winter of this discontent never passes?

Cabin fever has taken on a different dimension. We are locked in the house intellectually and are emotionally chained to the computer; electronica imitating life. I scan for hours looking for cycle accruements, thinking about trading in this or putting a down payment on that. I have an imaginary fleet of getaway vehicles while never stopping to consider why I’m viscerally trying to get away. And from what?

When I was younger I had a pocketful of dreams, a gunslingers wit, and an urban bravado about how I viewed and demanded the future to be for me. But time has eroded that enthusiasm and I don’t seem to have many dreams anymore. Just a “bucket list” shot full of holes. That’s okay because on one level I have fulfilled all of my vehicular aspirations. I should have been more specific about my definition of success. All dressed up with a garage full of exotic toys and no place to go.

The other day the sun burst through and we went for that walk. Half way through, though, the clouds came back and we cut our journey short. But we had walked again and it gave us some hope. Looking up at the storm formations I saw 3-D murals in the blue sky. Air-brushed-looking bleached white and steel gray billowy pillows that floated in forms of great mushrooms, cauliflowers, lion faces, and carnival cotton candy. I sensed renewal.

Today financial stress seems to lay on peoples’ shoulders like a lead cape. The burden of bill paying, the indentured servanthood of gainful employment, and the distant sounds of thunderous layoff storms brewing. The big dreams are gone and the only dream now is to make it home before the deluge.

I have decided to learn how to tread water. I have decided not to go out without a fight. I have decided that it is better to die on my feet rather than live on my knees. I have decided to weather the storms of life and have decided to emerge the victor . . . because I saw hope in my baby granddaughter’s eyes.

It’s time to walk in the rain – to get where you need to go. It’s time to turn off the computer and go talk to a neighbor who is going through it worse than you are. It’s time to get your families together and embrace those who are alone. Tell them it’s going to be alright because we are going to make it alright by our vision, our work, and our attitude.

The sun will come out tomorrow. It does every day. But sometimes the clouds obscure it. When the summer comes again my bikes are polished, serviced, and ready to rumble. Will you be ready?

Philippians 4:13

Edited by Susan Aceves