The dry, parched earth cracked and caved.
The dust floated in and out of windows and door and lungs.
The roads had become worse and worse and the dirt gave way to the rocks underneath.
I awoke in the night to the “ping ping ping” on the tin roofs.
Could it be? Have the rains finally arrived?
No sooner had those thoughts left my mind the pings turned to a steady ryhthm.
I fell back asleep to find that when awoke the next morning the rains had yet to leave.
The desperate earth drank deeply.
The children squealed in glee as they dared to try and touch the rain.
In a place like Tanzania, the rains mean everything.
If the rain doesn’t come, it can mean starvation.
If the rain stays too long, it can mean homes collapse.
Today I am thankful.
I am thankful for full buckets of water in my home, without the work of carrying.
I am thankful for the softening of the roads.
I am thankful for the small patches of mud, instead of dust.
I am thankful for the living Water that never runs dry.