The pond behind our house was nearly dry this morning. By noon my wife sent me a picture, and it was filling back up. Full, and no longer the cracked bowl it had been for weeks.
Between the dry pond and her picture, I spent half an hour complaining about the weather.
Ten gallons on the windshield
It rained in Oklahoma City this morning harder than it has in a long time. Somewhere in northwest OKC, in the center lane, the car ahead and to my right hit a sheet of standing water and threw what felt like ten gallons across my windshield.
Hands steady. Ease off a little. Wait for it to clear.
It cleared in a second or two. But I didn’t get to the office until 6:46, twenty-five minutes later than I’d planned, and I’d spent most of that time irritated. At the rain. At the other drivers. At the whole morning.
Griping about the good
Here’s the part I have to keep relearning.
We needed this rain. We’ve needed it for months. The backyard has cracks you could lose a key in. The trees and shrubs have been hanging on by their fingernails because the sprinkler system can’t keep up, and I’ve been hoping, out loud, for a real soaking rain.
Then it came, and my first instinct was to be annoyed that it was inconvenient.
I didn’t want rain in general. I wanted rain that fit my schedule. I wanted the pond full without the drive being hard. That’s ordering off a menu.
Blessings don’t check the calendar
We usually talk about the storm and the refreshing as two separate things. First the storm, then the relief. This morning they were the same event. The storm was the relief. The thing that made my commute miserable is the thing that filled the pond.
I suspect that’s more often how it works than I’d like. The answer to what I’ve been asking for shows up looking like an inconvenience, and I have to decide whether to grumble at it or recognize it.
I’m thankful for a God who sends the rain whether or not I’m in the mood for it, because He knows what the ground needs better than I do.
The pond is filled. That was the whole point.
