Thunder. It cracks and then rolls across the stratosphere bouncing and echoing for miles and miles across the fields. It is shockingly, jarringly loud. Even Ron, who sleeps through everything, is jarred awake and says a little comically, “Did you hear that?”
Lights go on in the house next door. Two little boys, whose bedroom is downstairs must have heard the thunder too and are running for the safety and security of Mom and Dad’s bed. I imagine they are being pulled in and tucked up close, with whispered words of comfort soothing and quieting their souls as their heartbeats begin to slow back down to a normal cadence and the warmth of their parents’ bodies lull them back to sleep.
I lie in the dark and listen to the rain come, countless tiny drops forming individually and then falling from heaven to create a muted drumming sound, washing the earth clean and forming the perfect backdrop to my thoughts.
Slowly, imperceptively, the sound of the rain softens and fades. Now I hear the intermittent dripping of a sodden, freshened world waiting to wake to a new day. It is still night, but soon the light will begin gather and the birds begin to waken and chirp and sing.
I love the changing weather. I often marvel when people complain about rainy days and talk about “the terrible weather”. People who I guess would love to see every day the same, the sun always shining, the weather always predictable. I wonder and feel a little sad for them at what they must miss. I exult in those sunny warm days, too, but I also love the wonder of a world being washed clean, the stillness being split apart sometimes by crashing thunder or a landscaped white washed in newly fallen snow. The changing weather to me, is a changing backdrop to each new days’ freshness and potential for adventure. I look forward to stepping outside into the rain-softened world later this morning, the musky, clean smell of wet cedars and sodden earth filling my senses.
Ah, there is the first trill. There’s always one. The first bird of the morning who feels, I’m sure, that it is their solemn duty to call the sun forth, even while it is still completely dark. But that bird is right. The promise of morning, and a whole new day, is here. A solitary car flies down the wet pavement. The world begins to awaken. Alarm clocks sound. Lights go on. Coffee pots are plugged in. Morning is breaking. It’s a whole new day.
This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope.
The LORD'S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.
"The LORD is my portion," says my soul, "Therefore I have hope in Him."
The LORD is good to those who wait for Him,
To the person who seeks Him. It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the LORD.