The clouds burst their seams last night, and showers poured down long into the morning, accompanied by thunder and flashes of lightning. Barley cowered by the bedside.
At daybreak, residual moisture clothed the hills with mist.
By the time the hiking boots came out, Barley fears had been long forgotten,
and he was as eager to get outside as I was. Along the path, rivulets flowed into
small waterfalls and down to the hollow to form a creek, which continued to the lake.
Barley lowered himself into the chilly water, and, half submerged, pivoted slowly,
taking in the whole scene.
There, the rocky hollow, now bursting with new green, stretches outward to the hills.
When he emerged, Barley sidled up close and began shaking, splattering my jeans.
He certainly meant well. I think.
In whatever form it comes, we are grateful for the moisture and the One who sent it,
the One who gave us life, and fills our hearts with joy.
Do the skies themselves send down showers?
No it is You, Lord our God.
Therefore our hope is in You, for you are the one who does all this.
