I stood on my porch this morning, sipping my coffee as the gentle rain began to fall, and it hit me: this isn’t new water. This is ancient water – the same water that has been rising and falling and circling the earth since long before any of us arrived.
A single water molecule might spend ten days in the atmosphere… years in rivers… millennia in the ocean… or minutes inside a leaf or a human body. And then it moves on. Because of that constant cycling, it’s entirely possible – scientifically, not just poetically – that the rain falling in Maryland today may once have been inside a dinosaur… part of the Normandy surf on D‑Day… the brook where David found five smooth stones… or Elijah’s drought‑breaking rain. And yes – even the water Jesus turned into wine eventually became water again.
The drops hitting my porch this morning may once have risen from the Sea of Galilee and been part of the storm He calmed. Not the same drops, but the same water He quieted with a single sentence.
And the same Jesus who commanded the wind and waves is still the Lord of all Creation. He has not left us to face anything alone. He still commands your fears, your anxieties, and your uncertainties. Your storms are not stronger than His voice. So as this Monday unfolds, let the rain sing over you: “Be still, my soul! the waves and winds still know His voice…” And when the time is right, He will speak the same word He spoke then – a word creation still remembers: “Peace. Be still.”
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