Praying for Summer Rain

For the last three weeks—
with the heat index most days pegging over a hundred
and new grass withering in the shade—
we have watched the rains the Lord has made 
as they moved around us:

Cells splitting along the line of our highway it seems
and sliding by just above, or below, or both at the same time,
farms to north or south or east or west
seeming to get the best of what had passed us by.

Late last night, or more technically, early this morning,
the sound of a storm's forming roused me from my sleep
and would keep me from returning:
the ricocheting rumbling, 
the pounding of rain on the roof
and the telltale heavy thumping of gutters overflowing
onto the flat of the balcony
and knowing that water 
would be seeping in under that door again.

I stood for a while looking out its window
at sheets of rain and reflected flashes of lightning
and thinking how much it would help the pastures,
then went back to bed and turned to my side again.

For nearly two hours the reverberations kept me awake
and yet finally I couldn't help but wonder:
"What kind of man prays for summer rain
and then resents the thunder?"

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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