Weatherman said it’s gonna rain, Tomorrow.
But he didn’t need to mention it on my account.
I can already tell it’s gonna rain.
There’s a gnawing; a ‘knowing’ inside me, when a storm is on the horizon.
It’s a feeling, really. A certain ‘uncertainty’ that clouds a body’s soul.
And, I’ve known that kind of feeling ever since I was a little boy.
When I was a kid growing up, and a storm was in the wind,
(On an otherwise lovely day,)
The very shape of the sky would begin to change, on those muggy afternoons;
Clouds would begin to morph and twist into angry silhouettes.
Like vaporous chameleons,
the frowning faces of dragons and frightening monsters
would begin to billow up in that azure sky.
Steamy forms, looking for all the world like they had been belched from the smoke of some invisible blast furnace,
materializing as the afternoon moments wore on.
And what had been a perfectly reasonable horizon would change its mind; the very heavens would develop an “attitude,” take on the color of deep slate, gray as any gloom.
And the breeze would join in, too;
a windy and mournful song would commence,
a whistling through the limbs and leaves
of that old cottonwood tree we had out back.
But the tree did not seem to notice.
(For trees with significant roots seem to take no notice of mere and uncertain winds.)
Loud. And louder, still.
The noise of an impending blow would grow,
Each passing moment, a roar would swell like some listless giant wave, until …
Until all hell broke loose.
The rain would arrive, and that frog-stranglin’ rain,
that deluge that had been waiting on the horizon
would boom at the door of my life.
Well, I woke this morning to a sound in my soul;
A distant and yet familiar sound is on the horizon.
Menacing as any thunder I’ve ever heard before,
and yet, not the sound of the clouds as they clap together.
A different boom; one that portends more than a refreshing rain for my life;
Instead, I sense a flood I will not be able to manage, or navigate, or … survive.
An impression, (or perhaps, a depression) of what the forecast for my life
will be like, Tomorrow:
100% chance of rain.
100% chance all hell will break loose.
I see, in my mind’s eye,
Monstrous things ahead.
And now, a fear comes, too.
Like some ill wind, blowing through my raised and reaching limbs,
And my creaking life falls prey to the insecurity of that uncertain gale.
I lift my weak and weary arms to Him, Today.
I wait in expectation. Soon, it will begin to rain.
Experience and memory have taught me.
I’ve witnessed storms before.
I’ve heard their menacing thunder.
I’ve seen the slate gray clouds of uncertainty, along my storied journey.
Whatever that unexpected gnawing may be this morning,
And, whatever chance a storm may be brewing and stewing in my soul,
May this Confidence hold me fast;
Certain as my last breath, and my uncertain Tomorrow.
Tree of Life.
Root of Jessie.
Son of David.
Son of God.