This morning I woke up chilly, cold actually. Normally this wouldn’t be “blog worthy” except that I haven’t felt anything close to cool inside my house since our air conditioning went out in early August. Since then, it’s been hot, humid, steamy with sporadic moments of breezy “relief” bordering on comfortable, but not cool.
So the brisk rooms and cold floors this morning seemed nothing short of miraculous. Certainly they were answers to prayers—or not exactly prayers as much as expectations. Because this summer in the hottest, crabbiest, worst moments in our house when I prayed for relief from the heat, I believed; I knew God would deliver. It was just a matter of when.
Funny how rarely I show that kind of faith in other experiences. Why is that? Why is it so hard to believe that God will bring relief in tough times–that it’s just a matter of when.
I read something recently (I think it was in Chasing Sophia, actually) about how society’s move away from farms—where they are very in tune with the season and the ups and downs of living—to the cities—where seasons don’t matter and work remains the same essentially year round—has made us less able to roll with life, so to speak. Our distance from the seasons and their impact on nature and our lives leaves us less able to handle the regular cycles of life, death, birth, stagnation, harvest, whatever.
This makes a lot of sense—and I think it’s part of what makes it harder to count on God. We really think we’re in control—of everything from the temp inside our homes to getting our own daily bread—we’re totally out of practice of depending on God. At least I was! Still am…