April 2, 2001

DOWN HOME:
His soggy promise hangs like a cloud over his head
___Anyone who doubts God has a sense of humor hasn't lived in Texas the last four months.
___You remember what Lone Star life was like last summer: We (barely) survived a drought of biblical proportions. Pastors who preached on the great Egyptian famine didn't have to talk hard to stoke their congregations' imaginations. They could illustrate that

MARV KNOX Editor

sermon by pointing out the window.
___At our house, the sky produced nary a drop of rain for a record 87 days-- more than twice the length of the monsoon that prompted Noah's flood.
___Every morning as I said my prayers, I asked the Lord for rain and expressed profound thanks that I wasn't a weatherperson. As I look back, my job was simple. I only had to report on Baptists fighting over a new faith statement. Those weatherguys and weathergals had to stand up every night and tell Texans the same ol' thing: "No rain." Now, that's a job.
___Back then, I did what many people in Bible times did: I bargained with God.
___"Dear Lord," I prayed, "if you will just send some rain, I promise I won't gripe about how dirty my car gets, and I won't moan about how depressed I am because I haven't seen sunshine since people thought Bobby Knight was a friendly young man." (By the way, if you think Tech has sold its soul to the devil, say, "Amen.")
___Oh, me, of little faith.
___Since I'm neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet, I had no idea how hard keeping my no-griping pledge would be. We've had plenty of rain. Yea, verily.
___We've had so much rain, our dog, Betsy, has grown webbed toes.
___I've driven to work in the rain so many days I've forgotten what color my car is.
___The fellow at the feed 'n' seed said my rice seed would be in any day now, about the time I finish the terraces in the back yard.
___Steve Irwin, the "Crocodile Hunter," is planning on filming an episode in the drainage ditch behind our house.
___The local college is thinking of renaming its ball teams the Fightin' Ducks.
___Texas is so sopping wet, I hear it's leaking into China.
___A guy down the street is building a boat in his backyard. His wife has hitched a cattle trailer to their suburban, and their kids have been visiting the zoo every day.
___So far, I've kept my no-griping pledge. However, I've been known to hang around people who didn't make such a promise and feel no compunction against venting about the rain. This is called "vicarious bemoanment," and it feels almost as good as the real thing.
___Almost as good as rain ... in July.

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