has been coming down off and on for nearly a month. Everything is damp and the sky has been a gray iron helmet. When the sun comes it’s a tease, a few moments, an hour or two, and then the sky begins to weep again.
On the trip down to LaCrosse, Wisconsin this Sunday past the constant drizzle and drip forced its way into my thoughts. Windshield wipers scuffed back and forth. The road was shiny, glazed with water. Clouds rolled by like a monochrome wall. Surely the drought conditions of the year gone by were over. Now what falls from the sky is simply adding insult to injury, damp to dark, and purposeless wetting to what should be a beautiful day in June.
Except, of course, for the larger scheme of things.
I’m a creature who lives in moments, moments past and moments present. All I see is the rain. All I remember is the rain. All I ponder is that the rain will never stop. That this rain may actually be for years from now, an aquifer for some future dryness means nothing to me. That rivers need replenishing all the way down to the sea for people I do not know has not crossed my mind. That creatures other than myself may find not dreariness but abundant life in the waters falling from the clouds is not in my frame of reference.
But all of that and more is always present to God who causes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust. God is mindful of things in ways that I cannot comprehend. So the rain falls. I wait. Soon the sun will shine again for the same reasons the rain falls now, order, meaning, and purpose from the One who sees everything in its proper and timeless perspective.
The Beautiful Path 