By Vanesa Brashier, editor and publisher of Bluebonnet News
My favorite Electric Light Orchestra song is “Mr. Blue Sky,” which should tell you something about my weather preferences.
Give me sunshine. Give me a clear sky. Give me a day when I can get outside and get something done without watching the radar.
For most of my life, I complained whenever it rained. Sometimes there was a practical reason. Our black gumbo soil in Southeast Texas takes its time drying out, so missing a chance to mow can mean waiting several more days. When your schedule is already full, that can be aggravating. My mom, who lives next door and keeps her yard immaculate, will remind me when my grass is getting too tall. Otherwise, I will come home to find her mowing my yard for me, and we have a little competition about that as we both enjoy mowing.
But if I’m honest, a lot of my complaining came down to this: The weather was not doing what I wanted it to do.
Then came the drought about three years ago. My husband and I manage a small menagerie of animals – alpacas, peacocks, dogs, cats and emus (at that time). Day after day, we struggled to keep my alpacas alive in the heat. We put out pools of water, sprayed their bellies, brought them ice blocks, placed fans on them and gave them electrolytes and minerals. Whatever we could think of to help, we tried.
One young female became so weak that we had to lift her to her feet and help her stand, stretching her legs and working with her four or five times a day. She weighed about 125 pounds, so this was a considerable task.
We kept going back out there because she needed us, and because we kept hoping our efforts would be enough. On the last brutally hot Sunday of that heat wave, she died.
After everything we had done, we still couldn’t save her. That is a helpless feeling I haven’t forgotten.
I remember another moment from that drought. I would stand by their shelters watching them enjoy the kiddie pools filled with water and sometimes feel wind blowing across the dry ground. Instead of enjoying the breeze, I was thinking about fire. Most of Southeast Texas was struggling with large and small grass fires and our firefighters were feeling overwhelmed. Everything was so dry that a tiny spark seemed capable of setting it off.
If we had to evacuate, how would I get all the animals out? The alpacas, the emus, the peacocks — how would I round them up and move them before a fire reached us? I couldn’t come up with an answer that gave me peace.
Somewhere during those days, rain stopped being something that interfered with my plans. It became something I desperately wanted.
Now, anyone who lived through Hurricane Harvey or Tropical Storm Imelda knows there is another side to this. We saw homes flood and people rescued from rooftops. I would never tell someone who lost everything in a flood that they ought to be grateful for the rain. We know both extremes here in Southeast Texas.
But most rainy days are not Harvey or Imelda. Most are ordinary days when the ground gets wet, our shoes get muddy and something we wanted to do has to wait. Those are the days I’m trying to receive a little differently.
Living here, we get accustomed to green trees, green pastures and yards that seem to need mowing again almost as quickly as we’ve put the mower away. We enjoy all that beauty, but sometimes complain about the rain that helps sustain it.
I suppose I have wanted God to keep everything green while making sure the rain never interfered with my plans, and I was wrong.
In Matthew 5:45, Jesus speaks of God making the sun rise on the evil and the good, and sending rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. Sunshine and rain are both part of His provision. I’ve always been quick to appreciate one. It took a drought to help me appreciate the other.
That makes me wonder what else I am overlooking. An interruption when someone needs a little of my time or a chore that comes from having a home that I should appreciate more. Another ordinary day filled with responsibilities involving people and animals I love.
Some things are simply hard. Losing that alpaca was heartbreaking, and gratitude doesn’t require me to pretend otherwise. But I can remember that loss and let it change how I receive an ordinary rainy afternoon.
I Thessalonians 5:18 tells us to give thanks in all circumstances as it is God’s will in Christ Jesus. I am learning that I can be disappointed about my plans and still recognize something for which I should be grateful.
I still love “Mr. Blue Sky.” I also love the green trees outside my window, the grass beneath my animals’ feet and the rainbow that sometimes follows a shower.
Of course, I am writing this while I still have enough sunshine in recent memory to sound reasonable about the rain. Come winter, especially in gloomy January, when it has rained for days and the yard is a muddy mess, somebody may need to remind me of this column. Preferably very gently and perhaps from a safe distance.
I now joke with people that God does not need my advice on the weather even though He sometimes tests me. I will strive to no longer complain about the rain, but He may have to remind me that I have already put this in writing.
