Living on a mountain requires an acceptance of bipolar weather. It was 75 degrees yesterday, green with luscious gloriousness. I spent the day working on little things and resting my body in the bright spring sun. Today, I woke to grey cloud sprinkles dripping
and dripping, all the while threatening to call in their darker and stormier compadres and dump enough water to drown the sun forever. My vile weather app tells me the of this week it will barely reach the 60's. In preparation, I have tossed my tank top aside for a sweater. You see, at this time of year one must keep two sets of clothing handy, for the weather is quite fickle. It is not uncommon for to start in sweats and then shortly to find them too heavy only to don them again a little time later. Its a roller coaster.
I am sitting here in my office watching the drops pound the parking lot. Deep sighs well up within, for I am longing for something less dreary. The rain is needed. I know. Drought is an all too often occurrence here in the north state. It's not the water falling from the sky that is making me crazy. Its the inability to get out and do the things I love.
I was born to be outside. I will never understand those who spend all their time holed up inside four or more walls. I would feel like a mouse in a labyrinth. Only I would not be looking for cheese, I would be looking for a door. Or a window. Or a crack big enough to get my fingers in and dig out.
Its been a wild winter here in Norther California. Its time for the weather to break. Its time for those flowers to bloom and young critters to populate the forest on the mountain and the forests in our yards. It's time for waterfall hunts and hiking and kayaking. Its time to start cooking nearly everything on the grill and for opening all the windows at sundown so the house stays cool while we sleep, or better yet, its time to sleep in the hammock outside.
It is time. Yes. It is definitely time.
Or is it?
The rain says, "No."
I pursed my lips in defiance and considered sticking my tongue out at the drops. I didn't, of course, because women who are pastors need to look dignified. Well, I did smirk, dignified or not.
See, I know the rain is wrong. We have seasons here on the mountain, and that means the rain's days are numbered. Seasons are God's reminder that nothing lasts beyond its proper time; that change will come; and that it will come when it's designed to come.
Nothing remains dreary, wet, stormy and dark . Darkness will always eventually give out to the light, and the difficulties that come with the dark will give way to the joyous things that come with the light.
Are you fighting a storm? Hang tight. The seasons are changing....
The sun is coming. Of this I am sure. I going grab some rain gear and go hiking in the rain to prove I believe it.