The lightening flashed brightly in the window.  A few moments, and a rumble of thunder.  Oh, Lord, we need rain.

This dry and thirsty land.  A dry and thirsty people.  Soak up our sorrows, and hurriedness, our anger and resentment.  Our loneliness and pain.  We need rain.

The pain we feel in between the quiet.  The hurt and abuse behind closed doors. Broken families, inward and outward.  Addictions and self-inflictions.  We need rain.

We groan in our sufferings, but every hidden corner is visible to You.  How can You bear it?  To see it all?  The evil, and the suffering, and the injustice of it all, and yet, wait … wait … wait for us to come to You?  We need rain.

And rain came.

You heard and came down, became part of the brokenness.  You understood the pain, and took it on Yourself.

Rain came down, in a flood of mercy.

You washed it all away, and continue to cleanse.  You opened up this festered wound, and like a skilled surgeon, carefully cut away the rotted bandages.  I’d carried it for so long — healing, reinfecting, healing again, and reinfecting again … but this time You healed it the right way, Your own hands, and not my own clumsy hands.

The crooked made straight, broken made whole, and dry made a river.

The rain came.

The desert started to bloom.


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