Make it Rain

My jeans are smoked. Not smokin’. Smoked. They hung on the line as ash fell like snow and billows of grey rolled through in post-apocalyptic waves. It’s not from wild fires or a volcano; it’s from people burning their fields. On purpose. Some of the fires are started by mischievous boys, but many of them are set by people who believe that smoke causes rain to come. And we need rain badly. People’s sweet potato crops are starting to fail, and the ground is too hard and dry to plant anything new. Rain tanks are going empty. Even the rivers are running low. And the days roll on, sunny and smoky and snowing ash, and we know there’s nothing to do but wait. I don’t know about you, but waiting is not my favorite, especially when the need feels great and God’s response...