Showers Of Blessing: Chapter One: The Arrival

This is chapter one of a tale that aptly demonstrates how Natural events of Nature & the Cosmos are easily misconstrued as Supernaturally Divine miracles of God's alleged Visitation ...

Showers Of Blessing

Written By Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

Copyright © 2017 Marvin Thomas Cox

DBA: Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

All Rights Reserved

Photo Credit: Strangesounds.org

Chapter One: The Arrival

It had been a long, miserable drought, one that had gone on for several years now. The lack of rain had taken its toll on the local economy with area farmers on the verge of bankruptcy and selling off their farms. Signs pleading, “Pray For Rain,” dotted the landscape as if folks needed a reminder that their livelihoods depended upon that precious commodity of ample rainfall. Churches were packed each and every worship service with those offering up prayerful petitions for mercy and desperately needed rain.

The small community's prayers were answered one scorching summer evening, accompanied by a strangest of phenomenon ever to be witnessed by those who had grown up in that part of the country. Quite coincidentally, it just so happened it was a Sunday evening -- a Sunday evening in Visitation, Texas, population six hundred and sixty six.

The tiny West Texas community had originally been founded in 1947 by a group of hard shell Baptists hell bent on the notion that participation in weekly visitation was a strong indicator of Christians truly saved by grace. Folks in surrounding communities had soon learned to keep their shades down, most certainly to not answer their doors, on Tuesday nights -- visitation nights for the fervently zealous Baptists who had no qualms about driving twenty or thirty miles to preach the gospel to a lost and dying world.

Now folks in West Texas are, basically, good people. Most would say that they are friendly people. But when other folks commence to pounding on their doors relentlessly every Tuesday night, some folk's patience begins to wear a mite thin -- their good-natured friendliness turns to grumbling and complaining. When folks get to complaining about other folks, it stands to reason that sooner or later someone will pop off and give those individuals a sarcastic nickname descriptively befitting the manner in which they tend to rub people the wrong way -- like a burr under a saddle. Several different derogatory labels floated about for some time, ranging from folks referring to their distant neighbors as Irritators, Agitators, and Visitators … One thing was for damn sure, those Baptists sure as hell weren't procrastinators. In time, the nickname Visitators managed to stick. After, all Visitators fit the m.o.¹ of the agitator perpetrators of their Tuesday night misery that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that evolution exists, because their mild irritation towards the over visiting Baptists had evolved into being full blown pissed off at folks who should stay at home and mind their own damn business.

The nickname whispered behind backs eventually escalated into open name calling with angry shouts of, “You Visitators, get the hell off my property and don't come back!”

Jesus had said there would be persecution. The cross was an insult that became the standard of all Christianity. And so, the small group of hard shell Baptists proudly shouldered up the name Visitators and, it was not long after that, the tiny rural community of Visitation was established.

Over the years the community grew in numbers to eventually see the Baptist segment rivaled by those owning farms in the area who were outright slain in the Spirit Pentecostals. To accommodate the denominational differences, two local churches were eventually built at the request, and monetary assistance, of those Baptists who could no longer take listening to their Christian brothers and sisters speaking in tongues in the midst of a good ole fire and brimstone sermon -- likely to just fall backwards before the entire congregation, writhing in spasmodic contortions upon the floor, whilst bubbling over with the Spirit.

The two religious factions had learned, over the years, to work well together, especially after the community's population had somehow managed to mysteriously round off at six hundred and sixty six -- ironically, the prophetic number of the Beast. Come census time, every time it came around, the population had remained the same, despite deaths of the elderly, and concerted efforts to encourage dislikable folks to move away, while encouraging young married couples to consider having more children. Nothing worked and nothing changed, as the Visitation, Texas population sign remained untouched over the years right up to that coincidental Sunday evening.

The Baptists had long since called it a day, having concluded their worship services and gone home prepared to face, yet, another day of scorching heat with no hope of precipitation in the forecast. The Pentecostals, on the other hand, were a long winded bunch that firmly believed God would answer any prayer if you bombarded him with your prayers persistently enough and long enough. Perhaps they were right. Nine O'clock was fast arriving and the fledgling young Pastor, having delivered his message, felt led to continue on in exhortation and praise by leading his congregation in an additional round of prayer, intercession, and singing of hymns to the Lord. Filled with the Spirit, the young man, and his newly acquired congregation, spontaneously began to sing an old hymn that spoke the needs of their community in a most powerful way: Showers of Blessing².

“There shall be showers of blessing:

Oh, that today they might fall,

Now as to God we’re confessing,

Now as on Jesus we call!

Showers of blessing,

Showers of blessing we need:

Mercy-drops round us are falling,

But for the showers we plead.”

The last line had not left the lips of those singing when the first drops of rain began to fall -- making that sound, of pitter-patter, pitter-patter, upon the roof of the old church that was pure music to the ears of those inside. For a moment, a hushed quiet fell over the shocked, but deliriously ecstatic, congregation. No one had even noticed the sky darkening outside the windows, or the stars beginning to be hidden from view. According to the local forecast, the chances for rain were minimal at best. But, there it was, it had begun to rain, and the praises of emotion filled voices began to ring out to beat the band. There was nothing strange about this occurrence, except everyone considered it to be a prayer-answered-miracle from God Himself.

What was strange, were the fireworks that had begun to light up the night sky. Lightning was a common enough thing to have with any good rain, so nobody really gave the matter a moment's thought. Had anyone actually peered intently out the windows, they might have taken note that those brilliant flashes of light, assumed to be lightning, were not emanating from within the clouds, but were literally ripping through the clouds, and that sound in the distance, a thunder-like rumbling, was not thunder at all, but muffled concussions. But, no one noticed as that beautiful sound of rain falling, not only filled the air but, permeated their spiritually programmed and emotionally distraught senses.

Religious expletives of, “Hallelujah! … Praise the Lord!” … Filled the emotionally charged air within the little church house, as their young Pastor gently began to motion for quiet that he might shared a word with his flock.

“Let us pray and give thanks to the Lord for the abundance of rain we are receiving … Lord Jesus, we thank you for your mercy. We thank you for your showers of blessing witnessed this night, falling from the heavens above. We ask of you a sign … Reveal to us your will O Lord … What would you have your people -- your people, called by your Name -- do, to prove their love for you?”

It was in that instant that a meteor struck the ground just outside the church house doors, its concussive impact shaking the very rafters of the old building and sending the small congregation sprawling to its knees -- every one, every single soul, slain in the Spirit in the same moment of time.

Never could anyone remember the Lord moving in such a majestic fashion by sending the mercy of his rain, accompanied by His judgment upon the community executed through a meteor storm -- it was raining cats and dogs and, literally, hailing stones from the sky all at the same time.

This had to be the Hand of God! It was a sign! The Visitation of God Almighty had come to the small community of Visitation, Texas! Praise the Lord! …

(Written December 2^nd, 2016)

1 m.o. -- modus operandi: a particular way or method of doing something, especially one that is characteristic or well-established.

2 Showers Of Blessing -- a popular church hymn written by Daniel Webster Whittle

Reviews

[Woody]

Love this, Marvin. As I'm no poet myself, I tend to be drawn to prose more often than not. This is my kind of writing.

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham]

Thanks Woody ... As for me, I write poetry than is anything but Poetry ...

Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham