Sunday grace

The heat bears down on me, almost unbearable. I search the sky for a cloud, for rain, for a reprieve. But the sky is clear and blue and cloudless.

Sometimes a cloud is what I crave.

Summer stretches long. It is the season of play and fun and lasting daylight. Darkness brings short bursts of cooling and rest. Rain showers water the earth and leave the air damp, the skin sticky.

This year I long for relief.

Summer can be long burning days, and I can forget that this too shall pass. The autumn season awaits its entrance, its signaled appearance, its glory and grace.  But it seems far away.

The oppressive trial sunburns my heart, and I look for respite.

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“Let us cross over to the other side,” Jesus told His disciples. A terrible storm disrupted their voyage, and they thought death was imminent. They forgot their Rabbi’s assurance of certain arrival on the other shore.

Sometimes I forget too. Oh me of little faith.

Endure with patience, oh my soul. Look to the Light, the One whose radiance burns away chaff, leaving the wheat to be planted, to be fruitful.

Summer is the season of breaking up fallow ground, of laying in the seed that must die in order to live and grow. Then comes the harvest. It takes the summer heat to produce the bounty of reaping.

May it be so. In me.

Sunday grace.

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