Opinion

We are parched. The earth is dry and cracked. The grass is yellow and the trees wilt for want of moisture. Rain clouds come and go. We watch them disappear in the endless horizon, praying that the hot wind will carry in another batch that will let loose the torrential rain that we need. There’s no end in sight. Yet, we pray, and we trust, and we sing “Showers of Blessing” on Sunday while the sun beats down on the church roof.