Of Rain Barrels and the Holy Spirit

My house came with a rain barrel. I had long before decided that once I became a home-owner, I would invest in a rain barrel, so I was delighted so see someone shared my value of collecting rainwater. I much prefer to water my garden and plants by filling the watering can from the rain barrel than using a hose. In part, because it saves me $$ on the water bill. But also, because it's a more eco-friendly option. It always unsettles me a little bit to water my garden, flowers, or--worst off all--the lawn, with drinking water, when there are people on the other side of the world dying from lack of fresh water (that being said, I fully recognize that I am too entrenched in my first-world lifestyle to let my lawn go completely brown or allow my garden to suffer if it hasn't rained enough).

Last year, Edmonton saw a lot of rain (after a winter of also having seen a lot of snow). I never bought a sprinkler. Every time I used rain barrel water on the garden, it was filled up again in a few days with the next rain fall. It was somewhere around late-August where I think I--only once--had to water the garden with the hose to get it through its last few weeks, because the rain barrel was finally near empty.

This year's been a bit of a different story. I bought the sprinkler. And more hose. I still use the rain barrel first, but I have emptied it four or five times to keep my thirsty plants green and growing. I have also, therefore, soaked the garden with the hose four or five times, as I wait for more rain to come. And there has been rain. But usually only for a brief period in the late afternoon or early evening. And not every day. And not usually enough to counterbalance the hot, dry, sun.*

This evening is currently seeing a wonderful downpour.

Depending on how long into the night it continues, it may even fill up the barrel. Last year, I would stare out my kitchen window, thinking there was no way my lawn and garden could keep up with the amount of water its roots were being asked to absorb. This year, I stare out the kitchen window, begging my garden to drink deep. Because you are parched and I don't want to water you if I don't have to.

Sometimes, as I've been staring out the window, I've also reflected on the analogy of the Holy Spirit as water.

It's one of my favourite analogies. The Holy Spirit has been described like a rushing wind, cleansing fire, and refreshing rain (amongst other things). I particularly like the rain analogy, I think because I can relate to the sense of dirt and grime being washed away, the refreshing smell, the softness of once-dry, cracked land, and the absence of thirst after a good rain.

Sometimes we describe ourselves in relation to this analogy of the Holy Spirt. We thirst for God's presence, power, love (and He responds, "All who are thirsty, come..."**) We go through what we call spiritual dry spells. We need to be washed clean from our sin. 

But if the Holy Spirit pours down like rain, what happens in those times when our rain barrel starts to go empty? I don't trust our prairie's meteorological history to wait out the dry heat until the next rainfall. I will make rain on my own. But what about my faith? Do I trust God's relational history to wait out the desert period, or do I try to make rain on my own?

Except, the rain I make costs me.

And the rain I make doesn't always feel like the right thing to do.

And the rain I make doesn't always water as thoroughly.

Hmm.
Not a perfect analogy, I'm sure.
But something I continue to think about.

Especially when it finally rains.

*I am by no means dissing the sun. The sun is amazing. I will take a sunny summer over a rainy one any day. I am merely stating meteorological fact.

** Revelation 22:17. See also John 4:12-14