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Galoshes in the Mojave

August 20, 2012

So…Florida summers usually go like this:

Hot…hot…humid…hot…more humid…hot…humidity drops a teensy bit…brief afternoon thunderstorm to raise the humidity again…hot…hot…hot…humid…hot…

Except this year has been different.  It has gone like this:

Hot…humid…rain…more humid…thunderstorms…more humid…hot…rain…humid…thunderstorms…hot…rain…

It a nutshell, it’s been darn wet.

The mosquitoes love it.  The frogs and toads love it.  The mushrooms love it.

Jake the Jerk-Faced Dog hates it.  The sky is falling, you know.

I like rain and I like storms, as long as they aren’t too windy.  But I feel rather sorry for the rest of the country, which is experiencing drought conditions.  They need our rain.  I confess, I’m selfish and would like to keep it.

My soul was made for Seattle.  Can’t say as much for my hair, though.

Funny how life is full of cycles of drought and deluge, seasons of “desperately need more” and seasons of “I feel like I’m drinking out of a fire hose”.  Maybe it’s just me, but I doubt it.  Happy comes in seasons.  Sad comes in seasons.  Stress comes in seasons.  Surplus comes in seasons.  Need comes in seasons.  In the middle of the floods we forget that there was ever a time our toes scuffed at the dry, parched dirt, but in time the waters recede and gradually our feet go from sticking in the mud to lifting up a cloud of dust with each step.  And we begin to long for the very thing we once thought was going to wash us away with its depth and power.

I feel as if I’ve been standing in the desert for a long time.  I’ve made journeys to rainy places, but each time it’s been temporary and I’ve had to come back to the desert to wait out a change of season.  After a while I get weary of scanning the horizon, looking for rain, but what alternative do I have, short of making like a chinchilla and taking a dust bath?

It’s not my best look, I tell ya.

The past few months I’ve been learning to rain dance, however.  I don’t think I’m very good at it yet, and I probably look silly, but desperate times lead to desperate measures.  I need rain in my personal atmosphere.  I need the hope of clouds on the horizon, a low rumble in the distance.  I’m tired of kicking up dust.

See, I am doing a new thing! 
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness 
    and streams in the wasteland.  -Isaiah 43:19

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