My prayers for rain are getting perfunctory.
“Convict our government to make godly decisions, come quickly Lord, and send rain.”
I pray for the above because we’re supposed to, but in my heart I doubt the Lord will answer.
Drought has settled in. Crisp-dried crops surround our towns and villages, disappearing ponds and streams feebly try to moisten the land, thirsty creatures congregate at mud holes and vultures begin to gather.
It isn’t yet as bad as it could be.
But that is small comfort.
It could get as bad as it could be.
There’s no rain in the forecast. I haunt weather maps looking for a green splotch in the manner of a teenager haunting Facebook looking for status updates.
I mutter the prayer again. “Lord, send rain.”
It seems so fruitless. Nothing is on the radar. When is the last time God worked weather miracles?
I work up a little resentment and direct it to an iron-blue sky.
“So now you’re siding with the environmentalists! Now they’re jeering at us. Sneering that they were right about global warming.”
The iron sky doesn’t answer.
But my resentment bubbles and froths into another complaint.
“This is the midwest! Decent, moral people abound here! I would say we’re in the majority. Shouldn’t you be sending your rain on the just?”
A small, barren cloud winks at me, darkens a moment with a teasing promise of precipitation, then dissipates.
“C’mon Lord! Your creation is groaning. Don’t you care?”
The hard sky doesn’t care.
“I know our nation is corrupt. If we all behave and go to church and vote in leaders who will respect your laws, could we have rain then? But even if we elected 100% godly people who enacted your laws 100% of the time (and that has never EVER happened)...it would be too late! We need rain now!”
A circling crow laughs.
Around me, small birds laugh back. Small birds, whose short lives may be made even shorter by the drought, laugh and sing and rejoice.
Stupid birds. Showing me up. Delighting in the day the Lord has made.
“Oh dear God. Remind me again how you made the earth good but our sin messed it up back then and still does today. Remind me that rain falls on the just and unjust. Encourage my thirsty heart to trust that even if all your children die from drought, we’ll be ushered into an eternity of refreshing delight.
Don’t let me forget that you...You are my all in all. My future isn’t tied to rain or sun or cool breezes. My past and present and future are in the One who makes all things new.
Help me trust and rejoice.”
I look again at the fathomless sky.
“And Lord? Please send rain.”
