We haven’t had a good day of rain where I live for over two months.
Our lawns are past turning brown. Now they are brittle, straw-like. Weeds provide the only green at ground level. They proliferate. Hardy, demonically so, they thrive where all that is desirable dies from thirst.
Farmers are cleaning up their fields earlier this year. The combines throw corn dust into the air and it wafts down the road, into town, and into our nostrils. I drive my car through the car wash, and by the time I’m down the street, it’s covered again by a thin blanket of fine earth and debris. The atmosphere is so thick with nature’s own pollution that we are perpetually clearing our throats, coughing, blowing our noses, and sleeping fitfully at night for lack of breath.
The sun is a cruel friend, playing some sick practical joke on us. He kills with feigned kindness, extending warmth with one hand and thirst with the other. Low and brilliant in the sky, he illuminates the autumn leaves, and we admire their spectacular beauty. But we are lulled into forgetting that this is, in reality, a funeral home elegance, a ceremonial dressing-up before gray winter skies swallow up all color. The whole world is dying of thirst.
Israel spent forty years wandering in a desert wilderness. I can’t imagine. How parched can one get?
O God, you are my God;
I earnestly search for you.
My soul thirsts for you;
my whole body longs for you
in this parched and weary land
where there is no water. (Ps 63:1, NLT)
Lethargy must be overcome in these circumstances. It would be so easy to stay inside, breathe only conditioned air, savor a cold drink, and shut out the dry, dusty world. Some, for health reasons, must do so. For others like me, however, it is a day long fight against the noontime demon. Day after day.
In the words of those great theologians, the Temptations, I wish it would rain.









