It’s that time of year.
For some that might mean perpetual darkness. Or perpetual cold and snow. Or perpetual heat. In the Far North, it means perpetual rain.
Of course up here we don’t flood. Or where we do, it’s little surprise and about as much drama. Not all of Australia is so blessed.
“That time of year” is often associated with discouragement. Incidence of depression increases during the long night at the poles, during the snow season in many parts of the world, and in the rainy season in the tropics. Many of our emotional metaphors reflect this reality: A dark mood, feeling blue, cold hearted, night of the soul, a clouded face, etc.
But you know what they say—and nowhere is it more true than in the land of droughts and floods: When it rains, it pours. And I don’t think that’s an accident.
In micro, today it took nothing more than an uncooperative piece of electronic equipment to bring me from self-sufficient calm to rather helpless frustration. For a few moments, I had to face the reality that my solemn command was entirely ineffectual in bringing about the desired electronic phenomenon. My take-on-the-world machismo lay in undignified ruins as I sprawled on the ground next to it surrounded by screwdrivers and other such implements in perfect defeat.
I feel a little like that tonight as I listen to the relentless rain outside my window. It never feels good to be there. I’d much rather feel that I can take on the world, that I am in charge of my world, that I’ve got it covered. But I can’t. And I’m not. And I don’t.
Why does it pour when it rains? Perhaps it’s because we can handle a little rain. And perhaps God never intended to give us something we could handle.
Apart from me you can do nothing. —John 15:5
Grace to you.