Sunday, October 30, 2016

Never 2 late

This cute girl turned two a couple of weeks ago.




 I had great intentions of dressing her up and taking a few pictures to remember the occasion.


But I wanted to wait for the rain to come...well because green grass is a better background than brown, dusty dirt.



 Time passed and the rains still haven't arrived, so this weekend I grabbed the camera while David worked on a fence to keep the dogs (and said two year old) out of our small, but growing strawberry patch.


Of course, these two big boys couldn't be left out!





I guess it is never too late for cute pictures...




...and nothing better than ending a photo shoot by trying out the hole Da is digging!


Wednesday, October 5, 2016

It Was Cloudy Yesterday

It was cloudy yesterday.  Not an immense cloudiness, but enough of a cloud cover to dim the sun and turn the brilliant African sky a pearly gray.

Enough clouds to turn our eyes to the sky as our hearts whispered hopefully, “Could it be rain?”

Standing still for a moment, one could almost feel branches stretching upwards, as their leaves trembled in anticipation.  A sweet wind blew past, smelling of wetness and hope.

Six months have passed since rain last dampened the ground here.  The earth is parched, the grass bleached and shriveled.  Great clouds of dust stir up under our feet, settling onto our shoes, our skin, anything and everything really.

Dry seasons, both of the earth and the soul, come.  Seasons when God's presence seems far off and His voice a distant memory.  Seasons in which you look around, doubting, perplexed, wondering how did I even get to this place.  The psalmist cries out in anguish from this season of dryness, “I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land. Answer me quickly, Lord; my spirit fails….” (Psalm 143:6-7)

Dry seasons come to the land and to our souls.  Dry seasons come and we step forward through the swirling dust, pressing on into the promise of more.  Dry seasons come and we wipe away the grime once again, searching eagerly for the promise of a different tomorrow.  Dry seasons come, yet we open our hands, just as the psalmist, spreading them out far in the hope of catching that first drop of rain.

Dry seasons come, but so does hope.  Dry seasons come, but it was cloudy yesterday.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...