I went this morning to sit in the screen house beside our pond, went in sunshine through moist, green woods with a tiny, black dog at my heels. The pond was a sedate brown, solemnly holding the images of trees at depths greater than itself. Around the edges, occasional water drops fell from overhanging trees and slow ripples spread out and out and out. And I was silent, with thoughts rippling out and out and out.
And then, although the sun still shone, it rained. Rained hard, and the pond sparkled, rough with bubbles and colliding ripples. There was something free and glad about that rain in the sunshine: contradictory ideas combined and proved not contradictory at all. Beautiful. (Like the God who is at once perfectly loving and perfectly just? At once fully God and fully man? )
I sat, listening to the rain on the tin roof of the screen house, and to the birds, and to the frogs, chilly in the sudden wet air. And under the trees, mixing with the lowest branches, I saw a rainbow. (Now that I think of it, another reconciliation of rain and sun.) It hung there, colors suspended against the damp browns and greens of the woods … I will look upon it, to remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature (Genesis 9:16) … and I was glad.
God is not a man, that He should lie,
Nor a son of man, that He should repent;
Has He said, and will He not do it?
Or has He spoken, and will He not make it good?