I’m afraid I’ve missed my best chance ever to be a weatherman. Weather-person. Meteorologist. Atmospheric prognosticator.
If there ever was a year to break into the business, this was the year. If to be successful at such, all you have to do is aim at a half-way accurate forecast and hit the target more often than you miss, even the most intelligent yard dogs could do a jim-dandy fine job of weather-forecasting this year. All they’d have to do is to face the camera and bark once for dry and windy or twice for windy and dry.
I think I could do it.
“And now,” I’d intone in a cheery up-beat voice, “here’s your seven-day forecast: hot, dry, windy, dusty, brown. Batten down the hatches and watch as a good bit of Texas flies right by your window.”
As a lover of words, I might be able to work in some descriptors: depressingly dusty, suck-the-life-out-of-you dry, woefully windy.
To be really good at it, I’d need to vary the forecast a bit. Some days, I’d predict, “Dusty, dry, hot, windy, brown.” Others, it would be, “Windy, hot, dry, dusty, brown.”
What separates really exemplary weather wonks from average meteorological minions is precision, accurately predicting whether the weather on any particular day will be windier than hot, or hotter than windy, or dustier than dry.
But the basic forecast in my part of the country for way too many months on end has been pretty much in the bag. I’ve been wondering why they even go to a weather segment. Why not just pack the weather guy away and wait to trot him out until something actually changes?
In the meantime, just use the time saved from the pretty much useless weather segment to expand the news and sports. We could consider more ramifications of Charlie Sheen’s melt-down, or replay the royal wedding in even more stunning detail and give a truly in-depth psychological analysis of the real reason the prince kissed his bride twice.
I know this sounds surly. Shooting the meteorological messengers probably won’t help the situation.
The governor recently asked Texans to pray for rain. I already had been. I am. It might have been good if our forefathers had prayed more a long time ago about the wisdom of settling in what is basically a desert, but on most days, I’m glad they made the choice they did. I’ve thought about them a lot lately—especially the ones who lived through the Dust Bowl days. Some of those folks went crazy. In the midst of that much wind and dust, it was the only sensible thing to do.
How I wish we could divert a good chunk of the presently-flooding Mississippi over to my part of the country, but I don’t suppose . . .
Here’s my forecast: Someday it will rain. And here’s my hunch: There’s a 100% chance that living life successfully in drought-times, flood-times, and anytime, calls for faith in the One who gives us life and rains down scads of blessings on us in all times.
Curtis Shelburne is pastor of 16th & Ave. D. Church of Christ in Muleshoe. Contact him at email@example.com