The Drama of Rain

     

    

     Drive north out of Alamagordo on highways 54 and 55 for about 160 miles and you find the ruins of an Indian Pueblo. Situated on a hill, the ancient Pueblo enjoys broad sweeping vistas in all directions. Hundreds of years ago, Indians established this trading post to take advantage of nearby salt-lakes and the intersection of natural trade routes. A small community grew up, trading salt and servicing groups of traders passing through the area. Eventually the Spanish arrived, sending missionaries who brought the Gospel to this remote location in their far-flung empire. After another hundred years or so, local economies shifted and salt production no longer proved economically sustainable and the little community and the cross-roads withered and died, leaving the carefully constructed buildings with great views to the Pronghorn Antelope, Cottontails, snakes, and scorpions. Today, a national monument, you can wander among the tumbled down walls, listening to the wind whisper tales of men and women who rose up and sank down, leaving only scattered stones and shards of pottery. When you come, you will not fight crowds as this particular piece of American history lies literally and figuratively at the end of the road. However, should you make the trek; you may find an unexpected reward at the end of your journey.

     If you return to Alamagordo from these ruins, you will drive down-hill the entire way. To the east lie the Sacramento Mountains and the Lincoln national forest, home of such notables as Smokey the Bear and Billy The Kid. To the west lies another range. If you visit during the summer you may enjoy one of the great weather displays on earth. During the summer months winds frequently sweep across the Great Plains which lie to the east of the Sacramento Mountains, picking up moisture along the way. These damp winds strike the mountains, slowing down, forming towering, turbulent white clouds with dark undersides. During the day they grow, seemingly anchored by the hulking purple mass lining the eastern rim of the Tularosa Basin. A few scouts break away,

drifting slowly across the basin, harbingers of coming rains. Late in the afternoon their brothers, gigantic behemoths, break their ties and rumble out across the parched valley. The show has arrived.

     When it rains in Lubbock, it is a local event. My view, obstructed by buildings and trees, takes in the rain as it moves across my neighborhood. Driving down the near empty highway in New Mexico, a sweeping drama unfolds in awesome splendor. Heavy laden clouds, pregnant with rain, start releasing their load on mountain tops. Seen from the valley, this rain obscures the dark blue forested peaks in veils of gray. Then, the towering clouds cast off their restraints and majestically parade out across the valley, all the while dumping millions of gallons of water. You can actually watch rain pour out of a cloud, as if from a gigantic aerial hydrant. It does not traverse the distance quickly. Seen from a distance, the rain slowly peels out of the cloud in clumps, drawn inexorably earthward. A vast sheet slowly descends, writhing in the wind, millions of gallons blown first one way and then another. Escorted by bolts of lightning the life-giving waters descend to the valley floor. As the western sun descends, rainbows form in the sheets adding rich color to the varied hues of gray, blue, and purple. If you are patient, this vast drama plays out over scores of miles and hours of the day.

     This annual spectacle unfolds bringing great beauty to a normally dusty, seemingly barren, ecosystem. Prior to the rains, the Tularosa Basin appears barren, devoid of beauty. The primary inhabitants all wear thorns or prickles of one kind or another. But after the rains, flows and grasses bloom. The dun hills put on a mantle of light green. Cactus, so painful to the touch, put out tender

blossoms of vibrant purple. Bees appear, busily bumbling about pollinating and gathering nectar for honey, while soft brown rabbits hop about munching on tender greenery. The rains, in their majesty, change everything.

     God is like this. Often, trapped in the crush of day-to-day living, we do not see the grand theater of God’s supply. Running from errand to errand we simply lament our parched existence; never noticing the giant clouds building on the horizon. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, clouds appear, the sky darkens, lighting crackles, and water pours forth. Occasionally, if we are attentive, God lets us enjoy the wide sweep of His generous and timely provision. From the mountains steams of living water pour out across the desert of our existence. Then, wonder of wonders, that which seemed so hostile, so prickly, so alienated from beauty breaks forth in a boisterous riot of colors, radiant in His splendor.