The Rain That Didn't Check the Property Lines

In the summer of 1993, a drought gripped the farmland outside Broken Bow, Nebraska. For eleven weeks, the fields cracked and the cattle grew thin. When the rain finally came in August, it did not consult the county assessor's map. It did not fall only on the wealthy rancher's acreage while skipping the widow's garden plot next door. It did not water the pastor's lawn and leave the town skeptic's yard parched. The rain came down on everything — on Harold Wynn's six hundred acres and on Maria Sandoval's half-acre of tomatoes and peppers behind the laundromat. It soaked the football field and the cemetery in equal measure. The children ran out barefoot, mouths open to the sky, and nobody asked them for credentials first.

This is what the prophet Joel saw when he looked into the future of God's people. The Spirit of the Almighty would come like rain after a long drought — not trickling through approved channels, not reserved for the credentialed or the qualified. Sons and daughters would prophesy. Old men would dream dreams. Young men would see visions. Even servants — those at the very bottom of the social order — would be drenched in the same downpour.

God does not ration His Spirit. He pours it out, and the only ones who stay dry are those who refuse to step outside.