The end of the Month of May came as local farmers had their crops planted and summer approached. Pastures were lush with green grass and the spirit in this small community was very high.
As June and July approached the temperatures hovered around 90 almost every day. Concern began to control the daily conversations with “how are your crops doing?” “I sure wish it would rain!” and a strange phenomenon began to happen as local milk cows “went dry.” When rain is plentiful, it’s an afterthought. During a drought, it’s the only thought.
At the beginning of August local water wells were dry and residents were having to go in search of water. A local spot, fondly known as ‘flat rock’, was a gathering place where grave concern with the lack of drinking water was the topic of the day. It had now been three full months without rain.
Crops had withered away. Harvest time approached and there were no crops to be harvested. Pastures stood brown and cattle had lost weight.
Local churches began to have special ‘prayer’ services where the topic of helping each other during this unusual time and praying for rain was front and center.
As a young boy it was my first time to experience a prayer vigil. Upon arrival, usually on a Wednesday night, the pastor or deacon would share concerns about the community and how families could assist other families having difficulty. After the general discussions several groups gathered in circles and began praying. Most of the prayer was done collectively without one individual leading the prayer. These circles would last ten, twenty minutes or more. Gradually the individuals concluded their prayer time and left. The prayers had been resolute yet humble, confidant yet meek, expectant yet unassuming.
On one particular night, at the conclusion of the prayer session, as we departed the church, flashes of light appeared in the sky. Some of the attendees were elated while others indicated the flashing was ‘heat’ lighting and had no bearing on rain.
However, the following day young children danced in the downpour like it was the first rainfall they’d ever seen. Parents threw back their heads opened their mouths, and caught raindrops. When it had not rain in more than three months raindrops were like liquid gold falling from the sky. It rained like a torrential downpour and gradually turned into a well-proportioned sun shower on a hot and humid August afternoon. It began to rain calmly, peacefully. A rain that didn’t just soak the skin; it soaked the spirit with faith.
It will always be remembered as the day. The day puddle jumping became an act of praise. It had been difficult to believe the day before the day. The day after the day, it was impossible not to believe.
Editor’s note. The blog is taken from a time in the early 1950’s in a rural area of Georgia known as Jersey.