Drought and Flood

There have been something like 30 straight days of no rain and low humidity. The bugs are lined up on the curb holding little tin cups out with signs, "Will work for water."

The nasty looking creatures we call "crickapeeds",  cricket/millipede mutants, are braving the Terminex chemicals in our home to seek a drop of sustenance.They congregate in the bathrooms, heads hanging, their million feet still and waiting. This is a poor choice. If Asherel finds them, they stand a chance of rescue to be tossed outside where they belong. If I find them, on the other hand.......

We never have much grass because the weeds tend to demand extortionist rates to allow "that kind" into the neighborhood, but even the weeds are dying and brown. The bushes are drooping, and the lovely birch has dropped half its leaves.

Most folks water their lawns. I am philosophically opposed to doing that. I believe that if plants can't make it on their own in our yard, then they are in the wrong place. I am considering putting up a sign on the curb to explain our position so the neighbors don't stone us. It is not like we have amassed any points towards "Neighbor of the Year Award" given the proclivity of our dog to fill the evening period of repose with very un-reposing sounds. But I feel like I am probably being harshly judged regarding the condition of our so-called "lawn". Perhaps if the neighbors knew that I am taking a stand of deep conviction they will not be as horrified.

And that tangled mess around our mailbox....well that could not be avoided. I tried. We have planted at various times sunflowers, mums, azalea, clematis, ivy, and small bushes. Nothing lived. Except grass. It is the one place where grass grows, though we can't get it to grow anyplace where we want it to grow. We have discovered that no other plants at that location could survive teenagers learning to drive over them, or my benign neglect gardening philosophy.

However, I do love the birch in the middle of our yard, and I could not bear to see it suffer.  So I buried my conscience, and pulled out the old sprinkler.  I turned it on and went to make dinner. That evening, I went to bed and realized that someone was taking a very very long shower. I dreamed of waterfalls.  In the morning, I remembered the sprinkler I had never turned off.

So the birch and the bushes got a good soaking, and the bugs are all joyfully laying out beach towels and drinking mimosas by the pools. There is no rain in the forecast, however and their joy will be short lived. Sometimes the environment is harsh. The things we know we need to thrive just are not forthcoming. Every moment, the thirst grows. The specifics may be different but I think the general needs are the same- love, respect, understanding, recognition for effort, connection with a universe, finding one's place and seeing it unoccupied and perfectly shaped to fit me and only me..... you all know the list.  But at times, the drought is never ending and all those drops of sustaining needs are withheld.  Other times, troubles wash over us like a flood, and threaten to sweep us away.

I think God is more merciful than I. I don't think His philosophy is "Green things, you are on your own. Survive by your own wits or perish."
I think He withholds what we think we need most to refine our understanding of what we truly need, and of where our strength comes from. The same Lord is the Lord of the drought and the Lord of the Flood. Whether withered or bloated, my limbs need to be reaching out to Him.  When I can sing with a throat parched or drowning, I may be on the cusp of understanding The Song. And I think then I  might recognize that He was sending me streams of living water all along, in the perfect amount.

Psalm 42:6-8 (New International Version)

⁶ my God.
       My soul is downcast within me;
       therefore I will remember you
       from the land of the Jordan,
       the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.
 ⁷ Deep calls to deep
       in the roar of your waterfalls;
       all your waves and breakers
       have swept over me.
 ⁸ By day the LORD directs his love,
       at night his song is with me—
       a prayer to the God of my life.