The Dry Places

dry place

[Thoughts from the Boundary Waters Canoe Area  2013 part one.]

It is not the existence of God which I question.  It is that I do not truly believe he is that good.

His goodness falls into question with the rain.  I do not control weather.  But I wish I did.  I have been canoe camping for two days and have been drenched through for both of them.  My tent is wet.  My shoes are wet.  My pants are wet.  My friends are wet.  And the sun is not coming.  I traveled the distance, paid the money, took the time.  For all my effort, God could have tried a little harder.  Am I not entitled to good weather?

Minor faith crisis.  This isn’t just about rain.  It’s about everything.  How many hopes have been clouded over, leaving us shivering, cold and wet?  We feel cheated.  God is holding out, has turned his back.

 

I stand on the shore and watch God’s back.  Dripping, numb, exposed to what he has given me in exchange for my precious hope.  I notice a cleft in the rock.  I hunker down in the only dry space I have seen all weekend:  Mercy.

His goodness falls into question with the rain that drenches everything but me.  It is true that I have received wet and not warmth.  But it is also true that I have a dry place to sit in the midst of it.  I do not control weather.  Neither do I control mercy.  I hear no one complaining about the second.

 

When I wonder whether he is good, I easily remember the downpours.

How often do I consider the dry places?

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