It was pouring rain this morning as I drove my boys to school. In the silent pauses of our conversations, the windshield wipers squeaked as they furiously worked.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
As soon as they made a complete swipe, water had already consumed the glass. Up and down. At the highest speed. Back and forth. Fighting to defend against such shards of precipitation.
I feel like windshield wipers most days. No sooner do I sit and take a moment to catch my breath, is the rain of my world smeared across the shield, needing my furious attention to wash and wipe up. A husband. A child. A house. A homework assignment. A meal. An errand. Throw in Bible Study, exercise, involvement in ministry or community and my blades are full speed ahead.
And right up there in front of my face is the windshield of my faith. Somewhere in between the back and forth is the battle for my belief; the hope that this rain brings with it showers of blessing in the pounding; the promise that no matter what is smeared, smudged, iced over, and/or fogged through, it is truly wiped clean in Christ. In fact, if tomorrow should be bright and sunny, my windshield will actually be cleaner because of this very storm. My eyes will see clearer through it, as well.
For now [I] see in a mirror dimly, but THEN face to face; now I know in part, but THEN I will know fully just as I have been fully known. (1 Cor. 13:12)
I park the car at this very thought. I take the keys out. A gentle ooze of water cascades down in front of me exposing the world a dark gray, impressionistic painting. So blurry. Life is so blurry.
I crank up and flip the wipers on. I can see better... sort of. I hope in the FINAL Sunny Day...
and thank the Lord for the gift of windshield wipers.