Dark, dank and foreboding

That’s what my Dad used to say about the weather in Scotland. Dark, dank and foreboding.

Well, most of the winter has been bright, sunny and cold, but today could fit Dad’s description. But then, we probably need the rain, or we’ll be in for a drought, which seems unbelievable in this watery land.

So, although our septic tank doesn’t need any more liquid poured into it, I guess the farmland does.  And the dirty cars benefited from the shower.

Dusty wasn’t impressed this morning, however. Having taken the time to don all the correct raingear, I found myself back in the door within ten minutes. She has perfected the ‘hangdog’ look and this morning, I confess, I was grateful for her lack of enthusiasm.

But this afternoon I’ve been out again, and the rain has slowed to a misty seep that fuzzes up the usual clarity of the landscape. As I sloshed through the woods, I was suddenly aware of how noisy it was in there. The hush of winter is over – I hope – and the chattering of birds preparing for spring is cheerful and loud. I even felt that if the mist would lift, it could just about be warm.

I wouldn’t have known that if I’d stayed inside and looked out. I’d have moaned that it was dark, dank and foreboding, and I’d have missed the promise, the hope of warmer days just around the corner.

So often I look at the state of the world, the mess it’s in, and moan about it, and silently conclude we’re in the final furlong. But maybe, if I just got out in it, I’d see and hear sounds of renewal that would raise my hopes and fill me with joy.

That’s what Jesus did.