Winter in Dallas was over. The trees had all turned green with fresh growth bursting from their winter hiding places. I went outside armed with a trusty set of pruning loppers to rediscover the property line. The fresh growth had burst into the yard, but today I had decided to push back the vegetation’s assault.

I thought this might be a good time to spend with my sons, so I brought them outside to help Daddy haul the branches to the curb. We worked hard. I trimmed back branch after branch, and moved them out into the yard, as the boys would drag them away. Kenny would grab the biggest limbs, and wrestle them to the street to demonstrate his masculine strength. Proudly, I would voice my approval and cheer him on.

As the work progressed, I looked up from a patch of brush and a smile spread across my face. Clouds were on the horizon with the promise of rain. Rain would be quite refreshing, I thought. I looked over my shoulder at the piles of brush strewn over the yard and decided I should help the boys finish clearing the yard before the rain.

We worked quickly, and together moved all of the brush to the curb. In a short time, we were ready for the promised rain that never came.

Having spent most of my life in the sub-tropical climate of southwest Florida, I had long ago learned to read the sky. Everyone from south Florida knows that in the summer, rain falls daily, and when clouds form on the horizon you have only a short time before the down pour comes. The daily rain brings with it a refreshing cool that cuts the oppressive heat and a cool wind to refresh the air.

I can’t tell you how disappointed I was that the rain did not come. I had been fooled by empty clouds with promises of rain. The deceptive clouds were similar to those I had grown up with. They carried themselves on the breeze as I had always seen, but somehow were different. These were empty. No water and no refreshing.

Jesus had a similar experience on the road to Jerusalem. In chapter twenty-one of his gospel, Matthew, described Jesus as hungry while traveling. While walking along the road, Jesus looked up, and on the horizon spotted a fig tree, lush with leaves. I can understand the expectation as Jesus continued on the path, every step bringing him closer to His expected fresh fruit.

Unfortunately, upon reaching the tree, Jesus found no fruit on the tree. Expectations were dashed and disappointment was obvious. There was nothing to refresh, nothing to give strength. Casting one last glance over the tree, Jesus spoke these words, "No longer shall there ever be any fruit from you." At once, the roots shriveled and the tree died.

As I later thought about the clouds and the climatic differences between what I knew and what I experienced, I thought about the people who look upon the church and look upon me. I felt a knot grow in my stomach as the question stirred in my heart, “Have I been a rain-less cloud, full of promise, yet with nothing refreshing to give?”

I thought about the people who look upon me as a Christian, someone who claims to know the way. When I came to the lost did I have bear a refreshing breath of God, or did I simply float by, too consumed with my own life, worries and affairs? Was I a barren fig tree, full of promise from afar, but void of nourishment when they encountered me?

With the searching of the Spirit, I knew the answer. Though I could boldly point out the instances where I had preached the word and prayed for the sick, I could also see the valleys between those mountains of achievement. The droughts between the rain.

These personal droughts are easy to spot while surveying the landscape of our lives. As I looked over my life, I realized that each drought took place when I became too busy with my day-to-day affairs, and passed by the fount of God. I had striven to accomplish one more thing before the day was through and failed to find time with Him. When I would find the time, the distractions of life would call to me and I would excuse myself from the table of God, and attend to them. My prayer times would become shallow, and my study times insubstantial.

It would only be a few more days before a drought would be felt in the land.

As I sit and write this newsletter, I know that there are others who have felt as I have. The times when we could care less for the lost we come in contact with because we feel dry and parched ourselves. We have become rainless clouds, full of promise on the horizon, but empty of refreshing.

There is a cry in my heart that stirs my spirit. It is the call of the groomsman, “Awake! Awake! The Bridegroom approaches!” There is an expectation in my spirit that the night is coming when no one may work. The cry of my spirit, which answers the call, “Not yet, my Lord, give me more time!”

The work has been long, but soon it shall be over. Rally your strength once more and rekindle your fire. Seek the Lord now with greater fervency. Pray a little longer until you are drenched with the dew of heaven. Walk out amongst the people and let the rain of heaven fall from your time with God.

Bring refreshing to the parched, and salvation to the lost. Bring healing to the hurting, and love to the despondent. Let the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.