Texas likes to make short lived promises about the weather, citing rain and the possibility of rain in a short stroke of genius to make me think I like Texas. But if the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, the sky here is certifiably crazy.
Or maybe I am for checking the weather as often as I do.
The sky turned black for a few minutes this evening, thunder rumbled, lightening bolted across the horizon, I got my hopes up and now I’m just sitting out on our back porch, watching the sun set through the trees. If nothing else the empty promise of a storm brought a break in the heat and I’ll be as grateful for that as I can muster.
Back home in February I moan practically every day. The luster of wearing cardigans and smart wool socks, and drinking tea every night loses its shine and mostly everyone is tired of shoveling driveways and being so cold you can’t get warm. I wilt inside for lack of sunshine because it’s too cold to go outside and too cold to do anything but shiver inside. Seasonal Affective Disorder they’ve diagnosed this, or aptly called SAD for short.
I have the same thing here in Texas in August. I stood today with my nose pressed against our backdoor, knowing it was too hot to go outside but my insides were wilting from being inside. So when the sky turned black and the lightening started, I felt a tiny piece of thrill. I stood outside with our neighbor’s cat, Steve Jobs, and we waited.
The sky is almost completely clear now, the sunset is brilliant. The heat is broken, I’m outside, and the breeze is cool and comforting. Thunder still rolls in the distance, but there’s no lightening. There’s a rainbow to the east.
I guess the definition of insanity is holding fast to a promise even when we can’t see the fruition. I guess that’s also the definition of faith.
…And all these, though commended through their faith,
did not receive what was promised,
since God had provided something better for us,
that apart from us they should not be made perfect.