It’s  sizzling summer in Texas. Dry, cracked earth begs for a drink. Grass—green last week—broils in the heat, turning yellow. Scorched air sucks up every droplet of water from the sprinklers as it makes rainbows through the sun’s reflection. Moisture never reaches those wilted blades with open, thirsty mouths. Trees’ leaves flip over, showing only their undersides to the blazing heat. All things green pant through the day, melting in surrender as the sun dissolves under the horizon. Darkness removes the fire but not the hot simmering that radiates incessantly from the parched ground. No relief is in sight.

My spirit goes through deserts, just like August in Texas, begging for rain from heaven. The skies turn to brass—are my prayers ascending higher than the treetops? Or do they lay with the straw that used to be grass? No answers, just silence—just heat—and I pray for rain. And watch.

That’s when is happens. As the story of Elijah in 1 Kings 18, a cloud the size of a man’s hand forms at the horizon, promising a coming deluge after a long drought. The clouds bubble and gather until the entire sky is dark with promise. I wait … then feel droplets splash, becoming pelts of drenching wet. I rejoice and dance in the rain, thanking the Lord for His answer. His living water brings my spirit back to life, opening the floodgates of communion with my Saviour, and I am once again alive in Jesus Christ through the power of His Holy Spirit.

Come dance and worship in the rain with Michael W. Smith today … it will be the best five minutes of your day, I promise.