A good old-fashioned thunderstorm is so peaceful, somehow, to listen to and watch. The fields, pastures, trees, and plants are soaking up much-needed moisture, which we’ve been too short on all winter. Completely unexpected, it brings blessing and grace to our parched land.
An answer to prayer, I give thanks. I think about the constant barrage of requests I offer up to God each and every day, waiting for answers. I weep and cry out as David did:
“Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my sighing.” Psalm 5: 1 (Whining?)
“My soul is in anguish. How long, O Lord, how long?” Psalm 6: 3
“Arise, Lord! Lift up your hand, O God. Do not forget the helpless.” Psalm 10: 12
“Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.” Psalm 13: 3
And yes, just as the Psalmist, I continue to cry out to God. Why? Because my soul knows, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’” Psalm 14:1 I, too, take refuge knowing that God is with me in the struggle, that the answers I want may not be what come, but the one who knit me together from the dust of stars and knew me before I was born will never leave me, will always love me and in God’s care, I am never helpless.
Like the never-ending wait for this pressure rainwater, God’s arms will wrap around me, and you, in love and grace and all that is good.