Waiting for rain

We may have gotten an inch of rain, total, in the past two months.  Towns less than ten miles from us get two inches, we get one tenth of an inch.  Every time.  It gets discouraging, especially on the heels of last year's drought.
In dry years when I first get the soaker hoses lined up along the rows, I always tell myself, "This is just to keep things going until we get a good rain."
This year I even got a watering wand to use on the flowers:  Each morning I'd get outside at the crack of dawn and walk up and down the flowerbeds in front and back of the house numerous times, back and forth, hoping I was doing enough watering to keep my flowers blooming.  And bloom they did!
After the last inch and seven-tenths that Odessa, eight miles to the south, received when we got another lousy tenth of an inch, I ceased watering the flowers.  They are showing the lack of care now, because I have given up.  Maybe next year will be better, but I have lost hope for this year.
The weather-guessers been forecasting rain for this day since last Wednesday.  First a twenty per cent chance, then thirty, and yesterday the odds went up to forty percent.  Our alfalfa hay was ready to cut, and Cliff said, "I'm going to go ahead and mow the hay.  If anything can make it rain, that will do it."
We have plenty of hay already in the barn, so we wouldn't mourn the loss of this cutting.
In the past, mowing hay around here worked like washing the family car does for city folks:  it is bound to bring rain because rain will make your efforts be in vain.  It's the universe laughing at you, the finest example of Murphy's Law you will ever see.
I'm usually a fairly optimistic person, but I don't deal with drought well, especially when it happens two years in a row.  As a believer in God, you would think I'd simply ask Him for rain and expect a miracle, but I've never felt it's right to expect Him to change the weather.  He set certain patterns in action long ago, and I don't have the kind of gall it would take to ask Him to rearrange nature for me, not that I think He would anyhow.  Let's face it, on the same day I pray for rain, someone heading out for a picnic is asking for sunny skies.  Considering all my faults and shortcomings, chances are the other person has a lot more status than I do and her prayers will get priority.    
As I type this entry, I hear thunder rumbling.  Iris, cowardly dog that she is, has already run to the bathtub for safety.
And yet, I have no hope that we will get rain; or if we do, that it will total more than one-tenth of an inch.

Forget about the precipitation.  I have been receiving showers of blessing every day of my life.  The garden may be dry, but my soul prospers, verdant and alive.