“What a bust,” I thought. How come the things you do for God are often such a bust? The theologically correct answer is that God is doing his own thing, and it only matters if you are on board or not.

I had a stack of about fifty books—it was raining, and I was watching it. I had 40 pages worth of paper to write and about 100 pages of notes to sort through for the answers to two tests. Nothing compared to a full-time masters student, but enough to daunt me.

Then, theology is something I’ve always loved. But why here in this rainy town? Why am I doing it?

I guess I do it… I guess because… there’s always the hope of something more, and if there is no God, there is nothing more than here and now and what we have.

I was once in love with a boy who said you should always want what you have. I do want it. But I want more also!

On rainy days like these, I can’t help dreaming of more—a lot more—I didn’t know what exactly does it to me—waking up with my cat snuggling into my hair, pulling myself up onto warm pillows and hitting play on the remote control by my bed to watch You’ve Got Mail for the 5th time that week—the rain battering on the sill and through the fir tree outside my window—watching the whole movie until the end, which I know by heart anyway—perhaps that’s what does it to me.

That silly movie is full of the promise of something more. Every little scene is foreshadowing to the end, when the couple ends up together through a series of seemingly bad circumstances. And perhaps that is another part of the film’s charm. The entire movie is a downward spiral for the heroin, ending in a sudden upswing and the final thrill of the best thing that has happened to her ever. That’s when you realize that it had all fallen into place, and every bad thing was really good.

And I suppose, in the end, I am hoping against hope that she is me. I click the movie off and crawl out of bed to get dressed, dressing in the 90’s way—leggings under a skirt, big jacket and mary-janes… off to a coffee shop for more theology, which, by the way, I’m terrible at. Not only can I never remember the facts, but application is just not my forte. I get things wrong… but it hasn’t been that long… maybe I get better… like Kathleen Kelly…

This is just the beginning of my troubles, all of which I’m going to tell you—the whole story, on this rainy day in this café… I will tell you the whole thing.

I once read a story about an old man and a young woman who were lonely and sad, neither with anyone in the world—they overcame their inhibitions and became best friends, him teaching her the classic styles of art and literature, her teaching him to find the wonder in the world.

And on just such a day as this, I was sitting across from an old man in my favorite coffee shop. He was rather podgy and had glanced through large glasses at me a couple of times… in fact, he seemed creepy, with his weak chin, pouty lips, and sunken doe eyes. But I knew, from this book, that I must overcome inhibitions if I ever expected to find true friendship and love in complete strangers.

“Hey there.” I smiled. “Can I sit here?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, with a half smile. I didn’t know what to do, because I was already sitting there.

“What are you reading?” I asked.
“Oh, just an article here and there,” he looked at me with the awkward half smile for a bit. I didn’t know what to say next.
“So,” he said, and I was relieved that he was the next one to speak. “You single?” At that moment, an older woman, maybe a lesbian, judging by her boots, walked over and grabbed his coat. “I’m ready.”
“Oh, right.” He jumped up, grabbed his things and left. Even the ugly creepers were not alone!

And isn’t that life? You just can’t count on movies for good philosophy. I, however, have never learned this.

To this day, I am convinced that this is the part in the movie when everything has gone down in flames, and from the ashes, a phoenix will arise. I will show up in a garden, “Over the Rainbow” will drift through the air, and Tom Hanks, with his dog Barkley, will round the corner and sweep me off my feet.

Isn’t that what theology is really for? It’s all the promise of everything bad turning out to be good in the end. It’s all the promise of a really good romantic comedy on a rainy Monday morning.