July 18th, 2022
This devotion comes to us from Leigh McLeroy (http://www.leighmcleroy.com/).
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Where I live, it's hot. And dry. In the month we typically see the most rainfall, my city has seen little to none. On Monday I heard thunder, but apparently, the clouds were empty. Yesterday morning's slightly damp, grey beginning—typically the harbinger of at least a brief gully washer—also yielded nothing.
Yards that are typically lush and green this time of year are not. Not at all. Rivers and bayous are slowly receding from their banks. Weathercasters' reports of "lower-than-usual precipitation levels" have morphed to measured talk of drought, and talk of drought to warnings of possible shortages. Not enough water to water lawns. Feed crops. Hydrate livestock.
When it persists long enough, drought can mean going without. In drought, we want. In drought, we wonder how long we might thirst. In drought, we remember rain and long for it to come again. And in drought our thoughts turn God-ward—because who else can make it rain?
Who else can bring water from a rock? Who else can draw from a well that never runs dry? Who else promises living water and turns the ordinary kind of water to wine? And how—besides lack—do we become dependent upon this power?
When we have all that we need, when we are full, we bewitch ourselves into believing in our own self-sufficiency. We convince ourselves (at least I do) that what we need is within our reach, and that the power to grasp it is our own. But in drought, in lack, we look to a power greater than our own. We have to. We have no choice. Our own impotence has been proven beyond doubt.
It's hard to bless the drought. To be grateful for it when we're dying of thirst. But it can be a blessing, whether we call it one, or not. God can strike the rock at any time, and will. Oh, let us not forget Him when He does!
- Leigh McLeroy
It was I who knew you in the wilderness, in the land of drought; but when they had grazed, they became full, they were filled, and their heart was lifted up; therefore they forgot me. (Hosea 13: 5-6. ESV)
_________________________
Where I live, it's hot. And dry. In the month we typically see the most rainfall, my city has seen little to none. On Monday I heard thunder, but apparently, the clouds were empty. Yesterday morning's slightly damp, grey beginning—typically the harbinger of at least a brief gully washer—also yielded nothing.
Yards that are typically lush and green this time of year are not. Not at all. Rivers and bayous are slowly receding from their banks. Weathercasters' reports of "lower-than-usual precipitation levels" have morphed to measured talk of drought, and talk of drought to warnings of possible shortages. Not enough water to water lawns. Feed crops. Hydrate livestock.
When it persists long enough, drought can mean going without. In drought, we want. In drought, we wonder how long we might thirst. In drought, we remember rain and long for it to come again. And in drought our thoughts turn God-ward—because who else can make it rain?
Who else can bring water from a rock? Who else can draw from a well that never runs dry? Who else promises living water and turns the ordinary kind of water to wine? And how—besides lack—do we become dependent upon this power?
When we have all that we need, when we are full, we bewitch ourselves into believing in our own self-sufficiency. We convince ourselves (at least I do) that what we need is within our reach, and that the power to grasp it is our own. But in drought, in lack, we look to a power greater than our own. We have to. We have no choice. Our own impotence has been proven beyond doubt.
It's hard to bless the drought. To be grateful for it when we're dying of thirst. But it can be a blessing, whether we call it one, or not. God can strike the rock at any time, and will. Oh, let us not forget Him when He does!
- Leigh McLeroy
It was I who knew you in the wilderness, in the land of drought; but when they had grazed, they became full, they were filled, and their heart was lifted up; therefore they forgot me. (Hosea 13: 5-6. ESV)
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