By Timothy J. Ledbetter
WWR Article Summary (tl;dr) As Chaplain Timothy J. Ledbetter points out, “The issue isn’t our dry spells, per se. It is how we find ways to survive and thrive, how we cope and find hope when our senses of being, belonging and behaving are NOT lush and green with vibrant growth.”
Recently while walking out in our shrub steppe desert, I noticed that at least one species of sage has been trying to bloom tiny yellow blossoms. That was even before the recent rainstorms.
You know how dry it has been all summer, so the tenacity of these remarkable plants is rather impressive. I’m no biologist, but am aware that the only way sage and other desert plants can survive our seven or so annual inches of rain is to put down deep, deep roots.
You can probably guess where I am going with this reflection.
There are many types of dry spells in life, mental, emotional, relational, spiritual, even physical (just ask any athlete or sports team). Respectively, we may describe such droughts as writer’s block, the “blahs,” mere co-existence (rather than marriage), meaninglessness or burnout.
Yes, dry spells can and do happen to everyone at one time or another, to the most creative, intact, connected and grounded persons among us.
No one is immune from hot parching seasons in life. In fact, our long arid stretches are to be expected, they come with the territory where we have chosen to live, work and play.
The issue isn’t our dry spells, per se. It is how we find ways to survive and thrive, how we cope and find hope when our senses of being, belonging and behaving are NOT lush and green with vibrant growth.
In two words, the answer as alluded to above is deep roots. Around these parts, most of our refreshing, life-sustaining water comes either from rivers or aquifers. There ain’t much in between.