Rain makes Flowers Grow

     The past few days have been squelching hot. Yesterday, the temperatures kept going up and up, till we hit nearly 105 degrees. I felt bad for all those poor kids out on the fields playing sports.

     Plus we're in a drought. Over the past few months everything keeps getting browner. The lawns getting a tan, flowers shriveling to nothing, the land slowly but surely dying of thirst.

     But then it happens. Rain hits, dripping out of the dark clouds above like an invading army. Everyone is forced to look up, and is faced with a jolting question. What is this wet stuff? This stuff that makes the air hotter and more humid than ever? This stuff that brings flash floods, and that makes our roads too slippery to drive on? This stuff that causes fatal accidents to appear on our freeways, makes the traffic so bad I can't get to work?

     I see the rain, the trouble it causes. And I think to myself, what a tremendous blessing for this day. A watering on this parched land, a washing of our dirty city air.

      But why is it so easy to thank God for the rain that waters the ground, and not for the trials that sanctify us? The storms can hurt. But in the end, they're a blessing from above. No pun intended. They teach us, grow us, and make us more like Christ. The rain can shatter the routines of life, but they generally cause flowers to grow. Keeping that in mind when all we can see is wetness and gray is the hard part.

The Flower

The ground is hard, made of desert floor.

No rain has passed by this way before,

A seed is dropped, but it won’t sprout.

No plants can grow in such a drought.

The sky grows dark, the clouds form black,

A storm is building; preparing to attack.

The rain grows heavy, leaning towards the ground,

The lightning cracks, and the thunder sounds.

The wind whips across the land,

Through dried plants, and through hard sand.

The crack of lightning, the boom of thunder,

The dessert floor is torn asunder.

The rain pelts the earth with force,

It penetrates with no remorse.

The rain pours out till morning break,

Then waits so still, for life to wake.

Eroded, beaten, stripped and bruised,

The dessert floor awakes anew.

Though the land lay desolate from the storm

A small seed sprouts and takes new form.

It grows with rapid and wondrous speed,

The small flower blooms faster than any weed.

Its glossy peddles unfurl as its shape takes form,

A radiant beauty flows from the flower adorned.

Though the storm was fierce and destructive,

For a one small seed it was productive.

It sprouted, it grew, it blossomed, it bloomed,

A rusty dry dessert, by a storm was groomed.

God's Colors

      The coast is a beautiful place. So many people live here. So many people visit here. It's a hot spot for vacation and tourists. And I have the blessing of living fifteen minutes from the beach. Walking  distance. It'd be a very long walk, yes. But it's not impossible.

     I hate to say it, but I've only gone into the ocean twice this whole year. Tonight is my second time. The waves lap at the shore, seeming to struggle against it. The air is cold, and I'm having doubts about going in. I mean really. It's going to be dark any minute, and I'm thinking I'll probably freeze to death. I slosh through the water till I'm ankle deep, waiting for the stinging cold to prick my nerves. But it doesn't. The water is warm. I've never felt the water this warm before, for as long as I can remember. I almost want to laugh. This is going to be fun.

     My friends and I swim for about fifteen or twenty minutes. But the current is getting super strong, pulling us toward the pier. I dig my heels deep into the sand. But I just keep sliding forward. We finally agree it's time to get out. Back at the fire pit we roast marshmallows. I keep turning to look out over the ocean, toward the setting sun. I keep thinking the sun will penetrate the thick dark mass of grey, shattering the gloominess with color. I brought my camera and I'm ready. But it doesn't. The clouds are too thick. It suddenly hits me that we won't be experiencing one of those glorious beach sunsets. I try not to be discouraged.

     I sit, camera in hand, watching the waves lap the shore, watching as is gets darker and darker.

     So what, there won't be a pink and red sky today, but as I watch ocean I'm stuck by it's beauty. The little bit of light cutting through the thick dark clouds reflects against the water's surface. And so do the lights from the pier. And I'm filled with thankfulness. Struck by a thought, I wonder how we so often thank God for sight but forget to thank him for the things we can see. Like colors. Here, in the lack of such radiance, I'm thankful that I know what I'm missing. I know some people who are color blind. How often am I thankful for the opportunity to see colors, am I thankful that God created colors?

     God is good, and despite the fact that his creation is tainted by a curse, he still makes it beautiful, for His pleasure and ours. I pray that I will always be struck by the beauty of His creation, even when it's not what I'm hoping for.