O they tell me of a home far beyond the skies,
O they tell me of a home far away;
O they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise,
O they tell me of an unclouded day.
Refrain
O the land of cloudless day,
O the land of an unclouded day,
O they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise,
O they tell me of an unclouded day.
Michael here in Stephenville -- taking a break from grading for awhile to post this. (So much for a teacher's 8:00 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. job.) I will be calling Mexico again tonight (assuming I get home in time to do that.) I only wish that I were joking.
Anyway, all is well except that it is HOT and DRY. They don't have to tell me of the land of the unclouded day. I live here -- praying daily for storm clouds. We had hoped when we last received rain that those showers were the first of many and that the drought would break. Instead, the showers were just that -- small, temporary showers -- and it is the farmers and ranchers who are broke. As is my spirit. You other folks might like dry martinis and dry wines, but here even our water is dry. (In case you don't know it, we get our dry water from dry wells and dry lakes.) [Please forgive my dry wit...]
I often think of this old hymn and how our backgrounds and experiences shape us and our views both of the future and of what eternal bliss should rightly be. Desert dwellers worship rain because their (our) very existence depends upon it.. (What else would drive an otherwise sane person to hold a live rattlesnake in his mouth while dancing, but, again, that is another blog...) We pray for the clouded day, literally. We pray for showers because any shower would be a blessing...
There shall be showers of blessing:
This is the promise of love;
There shall be seasons refreshing,
Sent from the Savior above.
Refrain
Showers of blessing,
Showers of blessing we need:
Mercy drops round us are falling,
But for the showers we plead.
There shall be showers of blessing,
Precious reviving again;
Over the hills and the valleys,
Sound of abundance of rain.
Of course, our prayers here in Central Texas are for literal clouds and showers, for far too many of us live lives clouded by figurative clouds more fearsome than those of the most violent and destructive storm. Dying in a storm holds no terror for me. In fact, I would drive Lorena to distraction because, while she was running frantic circles seeking safety during tornado watches, I would be out in the yard or even up on the roof watching for a tornado. (I would tease her that that was why tornado watches were called tornado watches. She would not be amused.)
I have felt the sick horror of those figurative clouds of stroke and violent death that no cellar or basement can protect against. Even as a believer, I have prayed for the mountains to fall on me to relieve the psychic agony of watching a loved one suffer. So it is that my soul hurts today for the families of butchered children because they are beset by the most horrendous of figurative clouds and by agony far beyond that of any physical suffering. I pray for rain here, but I pray for unclouded days for them -- that will still, somehow, in God's mysterious ways, shower them with blessings.
I become almost physically ill thinking of what they are going through. It is beyond comprehension to think of the ordeal of those families with dead children, but their lot is easier, if I may seem crass enough to say so, than the situation is for those who are existing in anxious limbo in the Purgatory of ICU waiting rooms, waiting, interminably, for any word, moment by endless, agonizing moment, before they can even begin to think of contemplating the future and whether it holds a funeral -- or recovery -- or years of rehabilitation -- or a lifetime of institutionalization. May God have mercy on them. And us. For we are all victims of this atrocity.
I know that someday we are to understand. I have faith that I will. But I also know it will certainly not be with this physical mind I now possess because this mind will never be able to understand...
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