Extreme Drought

Texas is dry. Acutely. Meteorologists tell us we are in an extreme drought. Listless plants, beaten by a merciless sun, drop their leaves in surrender; their once regal green pales to a dead yellow. Then, a few weeks ago, a couple of clouds drifted by, spat out a few drops of rain, and cruised off. I stepped outside afterward, and radiant green greeted me. The plants held their heads high.

We’ve not seen any rain since then, but the plants still retain their green. Hope is powerful stuff.

In seasons of extreme drought—from the trauma of divorce to the tedium of thankless work—we can stand under water, absorbing hope through every pore.

What do you experience as “extreme drought?” Where, how, when do you find hope enough to hold up your head?