Before the mountains were brought forth,
or the land and the earth were born,
from age to age you are God.
You turn us back to the dust and say,
“Go back, O child of earth.”
For a thousand years in your sight
are like yesterday when it is past
and like a watch in the night.
It promises to be a rainy day and the parade has been cancelled, which is fine with me as I have a lot of catching up to do. I think of the pleasure of a slow day and somehow the sound of the rain on the roof and the whooshing of cars on the wet streets bring with them as sense of nostalgia, of rainy days long past.
It has rained on this house for just over a hundred years. It rained on the forest before that. And before that? What was here a thousand years ago, or ten thousand, or ten million? I try to imagine the very earth of this place being formed. And I remember that all water is recycled water; water is not made new, but moves through God’s creation over time and distance. Today’s rain is formed of droplets that have watered the earth before.
Given all this, how is it that God is mindful of me? Of what account is it when I take a moment to be mindful of God?
I watch the rain out my window, and see a single drop cling to a bare tree branch and then fall to the earth below where it is lost in the wet ground; except it is not lost at all.
Image Copyright : Lane Erickson