Lord, one of the things I’ve always hated about living in Louisville is the humidity during the summers. We sometimes call it “soup” to swim through, a trial to endure as it sucks the strength from our bodies and souls. I swear it’s like an atmospheric vampire, sucking the life force from me as I walk to my car! It hits me like a brick wall sometimes as I step out the door.
When the humidity descends, the A/C goes on everywhere and longing for my home state of Oregon increases exponentially. I long to be back “home,” where the only A/C we usually needed was found by opening windows. For most of us in Louisville, our windows shut sometime in May and usually don’t open again until September or October. Some people never open their windows, and that seems profoundly sad to me.
Jesus, my Master, you’ve been teaching this disciple the value and profound importance of embracing my life - all the messy mundane details of it - as a gift from you. You’re teaching me, Lord, slowly (so slowly!) that in order for me to see and interpret my life as you do I must learn to see and receive it in the context of Your heart-wrenching goodness.
Lord, as I walked with You one humid morning recently, my clothes getting drenched, I realized that humidity itself is a gift - one of the ways You tenderly care for this climate. I was gently rebuked as my clothes were getting soaked in sweat, that I had despised for so long this particular work of God that was now covering me with sweaty symbolism.
I still struggle making “peace” with it, but I realize it’s part of making peace with Jesus as He rules the world around me. I may have to limit my exposure due to my weakness, but I give thanks for humidity as one more expression of Your care for me, my family and this part of Your world. What would Kentucky be without summer humidity? Not God’s Kentucky, to be sure.
Also, Lord, this sets my imagination on fire - How could I miss for so long, your relational provision of a heavily weighted atmosphere? What a beautiful image - God fills the atmosphere around my body and my lungs; the air is freighted with water ready to drench the earth in “Yahweh’s affectionate satisfaction.”
Forgive me, Lord.
Help me to see clearly and give thanks for my life.
For God’s Word is solid to the core;
everything he makes is sound inside and out.
He loves it when everything fits,
when his world is in plumb-line true.
Earth is drenched
in God’s affectionate satisfaction.
(Ps 33:4-5 MSG)
2 comments:
Hi Scott
Really enjoyed your recent blog post called Making Peace with Humidity. At first sight I thought it said, ‘humility’ and must admit felt a little dread. Then i reread it and I felt for you. I’ve never experienced such humidity and your description made it sounds very uncomfortable. Sounds like you have the makings of a rain forest.
Later on while walking my local track, feeling my arthritic knee begin to complain, I thought back to your words. How to be content with life’s ‘problems’, make peace with them. And now to stop wishing the pain away in my knee but to embrace it, knowing it centers my attention like any discomfort does so well on my Maker. I begin to thank Him for the pain, as you did for the wet sticky dew that waters the earth. Or as The Message puts it, (love The Message)----“Yahweh’s affectionate satisfaction.” Thank God for His goodness that comes in uncomfortable packages.
Really well written Scott, thanks for sharing your thoughts and literary gifts.
Thank you, Glorianne! I wondered about the title myself, if it would be confused with "humility" - wonder if I should change it?
Thanks for sharing your experience of pain. I am trying to begin to notice and be thankful "when things work," in my body and not just notice when they don't. Perhaps if I can learn to do that, maybe I won't be so upset when things fail, and be a little more thankful when things work as they should!
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