It has been thundering for a while this morning, the low rumbles that come tumbling in slowly, like thinking on a morning when you weren’t quite ready for waking. We sat in the slight darkness on the sun porch, eating our toast and eggs, watching hummingbirds dispute access privileges at the sugar water dispenser near the bee balm and butterfly bush.
A flock of blackbirds hopped about, noisily feeding on whatever it is that blackbirds eat this early in the morning. One or two even pecked around the bark mulch between the hyacinth and the roses. I finally stepped out the front door and welcomed them to seek life elsewhere. There’s nothing soothing about their cackling and squawking.
Most around here might say there’s nothing soothing about the hard rain that is falling now, either. The sound of its racking against the roof and rushing along the aluminum gutters doesn’t speak of peaceful mornings and easy hours. Yet, even in this spring of too much rain, there are reminders of God’s good hand upon our lives.
We have endured through tragedy, persisted despite affliction and been spared from many torments. We have been blessed beyond deserving and been preserved through our greatest trials. And if, on a particular day, we do not welcome more rain, we may well give thanks for a good roof and a dry place to sleep.
There are many in the world who would trade places with us and well believe they have found Eden.