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The farmer looks across the field remembering when it was green and plush, ripened with harvest and full of life. Now deadened shoots and dried crevices are all that detail his land. He’s quit counting the days since the last rain.
He looks back to the house that once belonged to his father and his grandfather before. He hopes he can pass it on to his own son, but without rain, he’ll soon lose it all. He dreads going back into the house and having to face the silence. There’s nothing much to talk about. No one wants to approach the subject since there’s nothing new to say. They all have the same thoughts and fears. Without rain, they have nothing…nothing. Soon they’ll lose the farm, the house, their lives, their identities, and their purpose for existence. They live to farm and know no other life.
A tear falls from his eye to the parched earth. It is swallowed by the soil, like a famished child who’s been given a shallow bowl of rice. The ground is thirsty and begs for more. He’d water the field with his tears if there were any left to cry.
He looks across the horizon; pleading for clouds that don’t appear. His whole existence is dependent on rain. With it, he prospers. Without it, he perishes.
He stands, brushing the dust off his knees. He turns to the barn to check the tractor for the umpteenth day in a row. He’ll top off the fluids, tighten the bolts, and check the wires. Maybe tomorrow he’ll start it up again. His life has become the repetition of useless motions. There is no meaning or purpose without rain, so he waits.
“You heavens above, rain down righteousness; let the clouds shower it down. Let the earth open wide, let salvation spring up, let righteousness grow with it;” Isaiah 45:8
