Rejoice

The sky is grey and the rain has come today with more consistency. A tropical storm makes its way along the landscape of Florida and we're better for it. People tell me we need it. I don't understand this completely. Growing up in Colorado, you knew when you needed the rain. The earth cracked and wildfires charred fields and mountains. Here, everything looks lush, thriving and green. But the reservoirs of water in retention ponds diminish--apparently this is a 'tell'. How appropriate a picture. Things on the outside don't always reflect the need. Inside, we might diminish while outwardly, to the untrained eye, all appears well.

I'm seeking to live my life in a way where what's going on inside shows on the outside. There's a beauty in not being able to hide the drought, the need. A few weeks ago a man spoke a word over me, "Don't mistake the wilderness for anything else..." This wilderness season has been harsh. I've been unable to avoid the heat of the sun and the cracks seem the most prominent feature on the soil of my heart. My margin for any additional challenge or input is pencil-line thin. I've been exposed time and again. Tears have been close companions.

But today, as I witness the torrents of water falling from the vast expanse of grey sky, I picture all of this water running over and filling these gaps. I understand the way my soul is soaking up every ounce and I feel hope rise--the word "rejoice" takes position over me like a banner. I think it's an invitation. Sweet, cleansing rain. Wash away these months of pain. Remind my soul of what it's gained. Intimacy with my Savior.

"You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good." Genesis 50:20