Rain

It had been expected, needed, predicted, and prayed for over and over again. The last several years had been almost devoid of any of the beautiful, nurturing substance that falls from the sky in what the ranchers and cowboys had began to call, "better times". To no avail, years had passed with little or no rain over vast reaches of the west. The old timers made jokes about it at first but after a few years the jokes weren't funny anymore and the worry, unseen in West Texas since the fifties, began to show in their faces again.

The clouds started small on the horizon as the ranch rodeo came to a close and the final band of orange dimmed in the western sky. Before the cowboys had horses loaded and most of the local spectators were back to their respective houses, the dark billows covered over half of the sky. Stars shown in the southern half until long after sleep had come for most. The long, hot day after day after day had worn on everyone and though the breeze had cooled a bit in front of the clouds, it was still good to get home to the cool and a soft bed for a good night's sleep.

It began slowly at first. In the midst of being half asleep, between dream state and aware you are waking up, a small drop on the tin roof broke the silence. Then another, and another, closer together, then several at a time until it falls in such great quantity that single drops could not be heard but one steady hum of the drops hitting the roof in a chorus. The wind blew but not alarmingly strong like the scary thunderstorms that so often bring wind damage and even tornadoes to this corridor. The showers slapped against the window in sheets pushed by the gusts of wind. After a few minutes of heavy downfall it evens out to a slow but steady rain. Rain! There, I said it. It truly is falling so for those who are superstitious, I can't jinx it now. It is not a prediction or a hope, but real rain.

Drifting off to sleep amidst the beautiful sounds of the showers of blessing in the pitch darkness of the home where I am a guest tonight, I dream of rain. The grass will be green again. The streams will run. The dirt tanks dug to catch water in pastures all across this beloved ranch country will fill and livestock will drink their fill. Crops will flourish as they have "in better times" and all will be well with the world.

As I awake to the soft music of my alarm I am, at least for a moment, not sure if it was real or if it was just wishes turned into dreams as sleep engulfed the tired mind and body of the night before. Then as I turn off the alarm, I listen, listen. In the quiet, before others are awake I hear it. The sound of the millions of droplets hitting the tin roof is real. I wasn't dreaming after all. I look out the window to see puddles in the long gravel driveway that runs in front of the house towards the county road to the east and to the barns, stalls, and corrals in the other direction from the front walk that is soaked, slick concrete. The horses in the small pasture behind the house are running as they will do but they splash through puddles created in low spots here and there as they run. Their backs, mane, and tail are soaked as they had been the day before when we washed them off with the garden hose after a hot morning roping in the arena. It is hard to believe that yesterday's three digit temperatures will turn into today's that are over twenty degrees cooler and now the hot and dry has become cool and wet.

There are places in the world where this would all seem silly; this going on and on about rain. But in a land that has perpetually been plagued with drought it is music to the ear. The Bible says God lets it rain on the just and the unjust and though one wonders about the fairness of that in dry times, no one is complaining or wondering which category they fall into when the rains begin to fall. There is just one common denominator. Hope. That is what's left to us. Hope that it is over. The drought. The long, hot, dry, hopeless expanse of time that weeds out the cattle numbers and eventually the men willing to keep plodding along in the ranching business, is over. Now the prayers change. Once they were prayed in soft, quiet tones asking, even pleading for God to send rain to heal a parched land. Now they are said aloud in thanksgiving that our prayers were answered. But there is another prayer to be prayed. That is the prayer that this is not just fool's gold in the form of moisture from the sky. Prayers that its not just a shower but truly the end of the drought. Then there is the prayer that goes along with it. A prayer that the people blessed by the rain will not only acknowledge its source but praise the source. The God that gives can take away. The God prayed to in the dry times is far too easily forgotten during the times when rain is plenteous. The only way to assure the ending of the drought is if those who prayed for the rain to come continue to be thankful for it, not only in word, but in deed. That our lives will change just as we have prayed that the weather would. That just like the rain falling from the sky cleanses the dust from the backs of the horses I see out the window running back and forth, the spirit of God will rain on us with His power and our lives will be cleansed from the residue left on us by the world.

Wouldn't that be something to sing about this beautiful, rainy, Sunday morning. Rain...both kinds.