We are in danger of slipping back into drought conditions here. The streets are a mess, as the earth beneath them shifts and sinks. Manhole covers are literally rising up out of the asphalt in a few places along my walking route. We wail and moan about our lawns, even as some have wells dug on their property with the express purpose of keeping them green without running up their water bill.
Our home foundations are going to take a licking. I'm counting cracks in my walls as signs of character, much like the lines on my face. There's not much to be done for it at this point, other than to gauge which direction the house is leaning by which doors won't stay shut, or which require superhuman strength to open.
Even so, when I go to my faucet and turn the spigot, clean water comes out for me to drink, in which to bathe my granddaughter, to boil my spaghetti in, and yes, to fix my daily cup of instant once the brewed stuff gives out.
It never occurs to me that what is going on out there is ever going to impact my daily life in here. Oh, sure, maybe we'll have to go on a watering schedule, or stop washing our cars, but I'll still pad down the hall from the bedroom to the kitchen every morning and get 'er done, hydrationally speaking.
But all over the world there are folks who work real hard to get to any water they can find, and when they get to it, it's often dirty, or so full of disease-carrying stuff that drinking it, bathing in it, washing clothes in it, becomes an exercise in risk-taking.
God sends us all the same rain.
It's what happens to His good gift after it hits the planet He entrusted to us that things go wrong. The same merciful God that sends rain, sends intelligence that develops technologies that can radically alter the lives of God's people all over our planet.
And then He sends folks who can help, like these folks.