Memories and Raindrops

I'm sat in our conservatory with David. The house is peaceful. The distant muted voices of Eve's TV programme and the rain potter pattering on the roof of the conservatory.
All at once my thoughts are whisked back to childhood holidays camping on the banks of the river Thames in Wallingford or in the fields above the sea at Rhoose in South Wales.
Yes there are memories of warm sunshine and country walks. Days spent swimming in the pool, the sea or the river. Singing around a campfire or peeling spuds with other campers at the Bible camp.
But sat here listening to the rain on the roof I remember evenings when other campers piled into our tent to sing choruses and listen to Dad sharing the Gospel. I remember sitting at his feet. Leaning against his legs and feeling so special to be his daughter.
Listening to the rain pattering on the canvas and singing Gods praises with my family and strangers who had come to shelter.
Some of my happiest memories are tied up in raindrops.