Rain falls here. But the land is parched over there.
There is a typhoon in Japan. Fire rages in California.
The climate changes and birds go extinct. Oceans rise and people suffer. And some of this is our fault. And some is due to massive ecological shifts that are way beyond our control. We can do something about our bit. But what about the rest?
Ice melts. Water freezes. The sky explodes in rainbows, waters-colors, or the rich warmth of oils — depending on the day. Depending on the canvas. It sometimes feels whimsical.
Unintentional.
Random?

And that’s sometimes confusing.

I don’t understand why I get to live in this home where rain gently falls and the only real consequence of that is the occasional intruding mouse. Others have to look to the sky with deep fear and trepidation, keenly aware of the danger in the clouds. The rains might bring floods and mud and more suffering in a place to which suffering is well-acquainted.

I was reading Job this week, astounded by implications. “By the breath of God ice is given, and the broad waters are frozen fast.” (37:10)
“He loads the thick clouds with moisture; the clouds scatter his lightning. They turn round and round by his guidance, to accomplish all that he commands them in the face of the habitable world.” (37:11)

How can that be?

How can there be sovereignty in the clouds, yet the clouds can bring both life and destruction, often in the same fell swoop? It seems both fatalistic and cruel — nearly pointless. Just live and hope for the best, while keeping a watchful eye to clouds as they gather.

The problem is that this is simply Elihu’s perspective.

And Elihu is only partially correct.

Job is an ancient book that wrestles with the oldest problems on earth. Why is there suffering? Why do some suffer and others don’t? Job and all his friends are trying to figure that out. The best of their wisdom, philosophy, and theology is there, on the table. None of it inherently wrong. But none of it is completely correct, because human wisdom, philosophy, and theology are incomplete.

Faith is a funny thing. We’re asked to believe in goodness when there is a lot that’s not good. We’re asked to believe in purpose when so much seems pointless. We’re asked to believe in a sovereignty that contradicts what makes sense to us.

But that’s the nature of faith.

God controls clouds. I believe this.

I also believe there is not a simplistic answer for the destruction and death clouds sometimes cause.
I don’t have that answer.

I do know the hope for the world, and the hope for Job, is the God who later reveals himself to Abraham — and who even later takes on skin and bones and suffers with us.

He suffers with us so that he can show the promise of making all things new.

I still can’t explain clouds. But neither can you.
I do know there’s hope.
And I hold on to that as if my life depends on it.
Because it does.