Everything is waterlogged.
The little space that will yield the salad garden is fat with days of pouring.
The wheelbarrow that contains some mulch from a leftover project has pooled brown.
I slap sandal-walk through grass drenched only to see the little gardens have had their thirst quenched.
It’s all been a bit much.
It is time for a little sun, a bit of drying out.
It is time to see past the gray to what I know is out there.
It is time for a bit of blue.
Yet, who am I to say it’s time for anything?
Can I command the wind and the waves?
Can I sweep away the clouds with a mere hand gesture?
Will I not be glad for the rain that waters waters waters?
How do I know that all this drinking isn’t to make ready for another time coming?
We have known the August dust.
We have seared under the blaze of late summer.
Yet it is hard when we are hard wired for sun.
And there it is.
It is why we wither and hang low after days and days of wet and gray and bleak
It is because we weren’t meant to live there. We are hard-wired for light, for brilliance.
We are hard-wired to want the Son, to live under His glory. We are like flowers waiting to turn our faces toward Him.
The sky is always blue he said.
That’s what he preached the other day to let us know that even at night, even when there are clouds, the sky is still blue. We believe it because we have seen it.
Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.
Imagine never ever having seen the blue, the land that we live in is under a perpetual cloud, and yet, we believe the blue is there past all the grim and gray.
When we believe without seeing we are blessed, Jesus says.
In the mystery of things, in the economy of God’s Kingdom, there is a blessing thrust upon us when we believe in what we do not see. We turn our faces upward in anticipation anyway. We can see past the clouds to what is there, to what is about to come.
In looking for the blue we turn our faces toward the Son.