Flying into Colorado recently, I saw a solitary tuft of cloud hanging about a mile above the arid plains. It couldn’t have been more than 100 feet wide. Having lived in the Rocky Mountain State for 6 years, I realized that over the course of the next several hours, that singular wisp would eventually mutate and grow into a billowing thunderhead that would release a downpour to the thirsty ground in late afternoon.
Meteorologists can explain how the moister rises unseen from the soil and paltry ponds and barely active creek beds. Without detection to the human eye, this cycle is in constant motion. The desire of the parched ground is sent skyward, where it mysteriously gathers, expands, grows in weight, and recharges with ionization. Eventually, it returns to the earth as rain that gives nutrition and sustenance. It often cleans the dusty air, and always brings cooling relief.
The experts can dissect it, analyze it, and claim to understand it—but it is still a wonderful conundrum to me. The surface needs to give up…to evaporate…in order to receive.
So it is with prayer.
The vision-message is a witness
Pointing to what’s coming.
It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait!
And it doesn’t lie.
If it seems slow, wait for it.
It’s on its way. It will come right on time.
Habakkuk 2: 3