After an incredibly dry spring and what seemed like forever without any significant rain, our area has had days of storms and downpours this past week. I’d read that a very dry summer was predicted, but I didn’t imagine it shaping up to be so much that way until the hotter months…July and August, mostly. Instead, keeping plants alive was proving to be difficult, especially as we started up our garden around Memorial Day. Three of us routinely took turns watering the plants several times a day, our sprinklers were on like clockwork and it still felt like there might be no hope of things greening up (or staying viable) as we headed closer to mid-summer. Now we’re still not quite there, and everything has had as much water as anyone could ask for and then some. Our plants are all as healthy as can be and the grass looks happy. I know that the amount of rain we’ve gotten hasn’t been good for everyone everywhere, but it’s just amazing to me how much can change in a few days time.

Do you ever feel so incredibly parched, aching for refreshment and in need of life-giving sustenance? I think we all have moments or seasons where we’re like the grass and flowers, wilting and weathered under the baking sun day after day, begging for rain. And I know it doesn’t always come. It’s not every time that what we need or ask for is granted to us. But when it does come, it’s more than manna to our dried out, weary selves–it’s like milk and honey, above and beyond the basics we need, offering blessing and a sense of hope for what’s next.

As the rain poured down day after day this past week, it felt like promise springing up for the parched areas of life in this segment of time. Every time I looked out to see rain starting again as a sprinkle over the lake, mounting into a shower or storm or downpour, I couldn’t help but think it was like God saying, “I see you. I see you again. I’m always on time, never late. I haven’t forgotten. This all matters to me, too.”

In the rainy mornings, the birds outside our window sounded so cheerful, grateful. It was like the whole earth around us was celebrating a feast. Even this morning, when the last of the major forecasted storms had all passed, I spotted the tiniest bird drinking droplets of water from the underside of our deck railing…sustenance for the littlest or least of these. When we’re reminded in Scripture that the birds and the flowers are fed and clothed and cared for, it’s true. And then, how much more must our Creator care for us? Infinitely more than we could ever understand.

We worry after so many things in this life. The details feel significant, the circumstances sometimes insurmountable. But then there is always hope in what is yet to come…the thing we cannot yet see. A week ago our yard was browning up in spite of all of our efforts to keep things watered. The sun had just been shining for so many consecutive days and our plants couldn’t withstand more of the dry heat. But now? Everything looks so lush and full and alive. Thriving wasn’t far behind the need, even though we couldn’t perceive it beforehand. This metaphor for living a life of trust is striking to me this week as I press into God’s sovereignty and lean nearer to Him daily, doing my best to rely on His life and Word as my sources of health and strength.

It’s not easy being green on our own, is it? We weren’t created to live without help, without community, without God’s intervention, without prayer, without sustenance. We need both sun and rain to keep going–to keep growing well where we are. We need heat and cool, we need truth and hope, we need trust and reliance. And we often need patience, sometimes up to what feels like the last possible moment, to receive whatever God has for us out of His abundance. I’m so thankful for tangible illustrations these days to be reminded of what’s true and where to hang my hat. As I feel so sensitive (in heart, mind, body and spirit) to all that’s happening around me right now, God is so good to meet my sensitivities with His narrative. It feels like inches of rain, generously poured out in the right moments, on land just waiting to spring forth with hope and life.

MM