Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: RAIN (04/18/19)
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TITLE: Cloud Dancer | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
04/22/19 -
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The regal Ethiopian kneeling in the middle of the street, with his arms and face raised to the heavens, kept me sitting at the light even after it had gone from red to green. Not since my childhood in East Africa had I seen an act that was so pious and daring. The dozens of onlookers on the sidewalks, combined with the cars in ultra-slow motion, showed this kind of thing didn’t happen in our little town.
It was clear that he was as desperate as we were.
The necklace of silver bells, bone fragments and feathers were distinctive against his white-streaked black skin glistening under the noon-day sun. The rivulets of sweat ran down his shirtless body toward the blue Nike shorts. His bare toes curled into the bubbling tarmac to balance him on his knees as his arms stretched high, shaking rattles filled with seed pods.
His piercing cries were unearthly as he called on the Creator to pity the ground he had made.
“What’s he saying?” my son whispered.
“He’s praying,” I said.
I remember days when my father used to stand looking out over the Rift Valley, watching the dust devils suck up the sparse soil from under the feet of farmer, nomad and settler alike. The vacant volcanoes sat like ragged clumps of plasticine abandoned by a child on a carpet of red. The carcasses of cattle, sheep and goat shriveled side by side far from the dried-up pools of life.
My father too had gone to his knees and raised his hands toward the heavens.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how to pray for rain,” my son muttered.
“Shhh!” I said.
One of my favorite stories as a child was of the prophet Elijah as he bent down in prayer on the top of the mountain beseeching the Almighty for mercy drops to fall. It took seven times of fervent petition before his servant spotted the fist-sized answer. Whenever I sense spiritual dryness I aim for this pattern of consistent intercession.
The other favorite I had was of Noah finishing up his ark. Having watched the millions of animals in migration chasing the rains across the African plains I felt the wonder of how life clung by a thread to God’s merciful cycle of evaporation and condensation. I almost became a meteorologist trying to imagine how the post diluvial world’s weather patterns gave rise to what we see today.
I pulled my car to the side of the road and got out to stand with others watching the Ethiopian. My six-year-old stood by me. I glanced skyward frequently. The weatherman had predicted more drought but the rattling African shaman was becoming a symbol of hope for people who had nowhere else to turn.
To tell you the truth, it boggles my mind. We can be told that rain is caused by vapor condensing on dust particles spun by wind into clusters which eventually meld into droplets heavy enough to fall. And yet, here we stand, putting our hope in one man who dares to see himself as part of changing the world by connecting with the divine.
My sky glances distracted me from paying attention to the murmurings of the crowd. When I did look back at the Ethiopian, my son was preparing to kneel next to him. I put out my hand to slow down a car and moved to intervene.
My son was already into the middle of a mini-lecture. “When you pray don’t forget to say ‘in Jesus’ name’. And tell God exactly what you are asking for. I think you should have two or three others asking together with you and since we all need rain, I’m here to join you.”
“Ameseginalehu, thank you,” the Ethiopian responded as he sank back onto his haunches. “I need a cloud dancer to bring the waters.”
“You just need Jesus,” my son said. “If your arms get tired, I can hold them up for you.”
As I stood behind them an elderly Filipino lady approached and knelt beside them. A Spanish father and son joined in next. Old Farmer Jenkins wobbled over with his cane. Prayers in several languages began to draw others. When a policeman waded through the crowd and caught my eye, I just shrugged my shoulders and kept my hand on my son’s shoulder as he prayed.
And while the downpour didn’t happen for days, I swear I saw a little cloud forming.
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