There's something about the way the soaked streets reflect the streetlights at nighttime. There's something in the way that all that rain fell, crashing down on the pavement as its journey downward came to a halting end. We would call that rock bottom in our own lives-- the place where we we land when we can fall no further. The place where we lay in puddles, unable to pick ourselves back up or recover. But in that place, the puddles reflect the lights above. The rain can do nothing but rest there, but as it does, it shimmers and shines. It can do nothing but be still and wait. The lights are still shining, even in the darkness that feels so right for this storm, this breakdown. The lights are still glowing, radiant and warm. Their reach seems to multiply now as the little bodies of water huddled on the roads double their presence. For every one light, two versions now beam. Isn't it beautiful? What we saw as an end, a final destination, a sad conclusion is instead now an act of worship where our strivings cease and we reflect the true light like we were always made to do. The focus wasn't our falling down or our failing, the focus was always Him. The light of the world. We were made to be mirrors of all He is. In the seasons when I feel like a puddle of hopeless, lifeless rain on the side of a muddy road, I will still be useful, I will still be a reflection, I still can shine His light even in such a condition. There's something about those soaked streets and those streetlights in the storms.