Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.
Our region has been under heavy drought conditions for a long, long while now. Water restrictions. Rigid guidelines for hydrated lawns and flower beds. Fees for wasting water.
Our lakes have diminished, their basins exposed. Lawns have turned golden brown and crisp. Drought.
But over the past few days, the skies have darkened. Clouds have rolled in. Thunder has boomed.
And it has rained.
How it has rained.
Sheets, pouring. Mulch washing out of parched flower beds. Mud making. All creation drinking in water, swirls and currents washing down the streets.
My kids are beside themselves. They've jumped on the trampoline in the downpour. They've gotten soaked through, over and over. My laundry room is piled with muddy, wet clothing, the post-party celebration of long-awaited precipitation. Their joy in the rain, the way it makes them more playful, more refreshed, more excited has only heightened the end of the drought.
Our hearts go through droughts, seasons when the reservoirs of our lives become drained. Times when our patience get crisp around the edges. Times when we feel sticky and dry and parched.
We can end the drought. Any time. We just have to open a book.
The Word of God. Rain for our souls.
The passages, the insight, the beauty can wash over our lives. It can pour into the chasms we call lakes. It can cleanse and renew and green us up.
If we'll just open up the skies of chapter and verse.
Let it rain.