The Distant Thunder

 

It’s almost a mirage, that night sky. Off in the distance the occassional flash, the low rumble follows across a world that for a moment, seems empty. Is it coming this way? Will it bring relief to the oppressive heat? Will the quench of a few raindrops serve to salve the aching earth that mirrors your soul?

The longing is there, deep inside. The ideal sits on the horizon, visible but out of reach. Each second is an internal grasping, a wish for the rain… a prayer to be clean.

You wonder for a moment, if it is truly possible. Could the rain bring back the purity of the world after the storm? And what of those more pure than you? What of those who seem to not need such questions?

You do not dress right. You do not speak right. Your choice of friends is met with scarcely concealed derision. Your ideas, your thoughts, your mannerisms… all are abhorrent to them… the pure ones, the ones who move with the ease of confidence in their own salvation.

And you, alone, watch the distant storm and wonder if you can ever truly be clean.

The questions always come, the yearning is always there. Is it so hard? To simply refrain from cursing, to not indulge in a little drink, to remain stoic and steadfast in your behavior. To be the model citizen upheld in the eyes of others, esteemed for your faith and perserverance. To know that you will eventually cross the gates into the afterlife and be rewarded for a life well lived.

But is that you? Would it be living a lie? Or are you only justifying your ungodliness?

Many will tell you the answers. Wherever you look, they abound. Suits and cleanliness and shiny, pleather bible covers testify that their system *works*… that their way is the right way and the path you should be on. With so many binding you, how can you possibly be right? How can you possibly achieve holiness?

How can the rain possibly make you clean?

As you search the night sky among the distant flashes… As your soul leaks out from your skin and cries for the freedom of release… You hear the answer, there in the distant thunder. There is where God speaks.

The rain comes, and washes the world, but it is the thunder, the voice of God who washes hearts.

Can you wear a suit? Yes. Can you go without a drink? Sure. Can you live the life you see on TV achievable in convenient, monthly installments? Of course. But are you washing the outside of the cup and not the inside? Are you safely tucked away from the rain, that it might not ruin your crisp, clean suit?

The storm is on the horizon. The distant thunder beckons. Does your heart heed the thunder or fear the rain?

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