When Will The Storm End?

“It’s still raining. It’s been raining for three days now, and it still hasn’t slowed down. I think it’s actually raining harder than ever now. When will it end? I feel sorry for those less fortunate than us — those poor souls who have farmland down in the valley. It would take a miracle to save their harvests now. Maybe not though, it’s a lot of rain but wheat is a hearty crop. I’m certain that it will be fine. The Lord wouldn’t want us to starve.

“I’ve been praying at every spare moment, asking how we may appease the Lord, what we did to incur this wrath. When will the storm end? When will the sun shine again? It must end. It must.”

“How can there be so much rain? I’m thankful that we built our home high up in the hills where there’s good grazing for our goats. I’ve always been thankful for our lot in life — the seclusion suits me. Martha would complain, of course, she’s always missed the hustle and bustle of the village. But even she would admit that the view we have from up here is worth all the gold in the world. The hills and valleys roll out beneath us for miles. We can see further than I thought any man ever could. Our humble little home feels like the tallest tower as I look out at the sunrise.

“Of course, I haven’t seen a sunrise in over a week now. Just clouds and rain. What was once a beautiful landscape is now just... bleak. I’m beginning to wonder if the village can ever recover from this tragedy. We’ve heard no word from our neighbors in the valley, but I doubt its any good. Today Martha was making up beds in the house and even the barn. Just in case. But we haven’t seen any of our neighbors coming up from the valley. I hope they’re alright.”

“Why is this happening? Days turned to weeks with no sun, no end of the rain in sight. It’s relentless. There’s no hope that there is anyone left in the valley. Martha keeps saying ‘maybe they escaped into the hills on the other side of the valley.’ I don’t share her optimism. Not anymore.

“The funny thing is — if anything can be called funny — I always talked of how nice it would be to live on the water. If the rain doesn’t let up soon there will be a lake right up by the edge of the fence. I’m starting to think that I should’ve built a boat. Months ago I had a dream that I was meant to build a boat. When I awoke the idea was stuck in my head. I even went out to the barn and started planning out how I would do it without even thinking how ridiculous it would be for me to build a boat. Our humble little house is nowhere near the water — apart from the stream that runs through the pasture, but that water barely even touches my knees. We have no need for a boat. At least we didn’t.

“I felt as though I was in a trance — like some mystic force was pushing me to build this giant ship. I snapped myself out of it, but suddenly I find myself wishing I had never left that trance. That Martha and I could have taken our neighbors into this boat and been safe and dry from the storms and floodwater.

“This idle thought is no good. I have no boat and that’s all there is to that. The storm will end. It has to end. All we have to do is pray for the sun to return. And fix the leaky roof again.”

“Lord, will there be no end to this infernal rain? When will the storm finally end? Why must you take so much from us? Have we truly been so wicked as to deserve this horror?

“The waters have reached our door. The goats can no longer graze near our home, so I had no choice but to let them loose into the hills. They are sturdy beasts, those goats. They’ll find drier lands to graze. If this storm ever ends I will just have to go and find them again. I’m starting to doubt that it will come to that though. A storm that lasts nearly thirty days and nights with no end in sight — well, I don’t see much use in thinking that it will end after thirty-one days. I just can’t bear the thought of having to watch my herd drown. Having to hear them scream as they lose their last bit of dry land to stand upon and are swept away by the choppy floodwater.

“The one blessing I can see in this grim world is that my Martha and I made our home so far away from our neighbors. I realize now that we will not be able to help them. They are lost now and it’s a shame. The beds we made up for them remain empty. But, Lord, at least you spared us of having to hear the terror as the water overtook them. How much longer until the waters take us as well? If you can’t answer our prayers and save us, at least answer me that. How much longer until we’ve drowned too?”

“My dear Martha is gone. Why did you have to take her from me, Lord? Why? We went to bed last night as we always do, but she wasn’t there when I awoke. She slipped away while I slept. She had said nothing to me. Nothing of her despair. Just, ‘The storm will pass soon, John, mark my words. It’ll all be over soon.’ That’s all she would say day after day, before we got on with trying to make do.

“I suppose she was tired of waiting for what will come. She didn’t take her coat or walking stick with her. She didn’t need those worldly comforts where she went.

“Perhaps I’m a stubborn old fool, but I will wait. I never was one to rush things. Things will come to pass as they may. They’ll come to pass as they may: you can always count on that. But Lord just tell me how long before I see my dear Martha again?”

“The water has risen into the house now. I don’t even bother closing the door anymore. It won’t keep the water out, and even if I cared to close it I can’t. The water is up to my knees now. Thirty-five days of storm. Or perhaps it is thirty-six. I can’t tell anymore. I can barely remember what the world looked like before.

“Lord, you still haven’t answered my prayers or my questions. I suppose that you never will. I will just drown all the while wondering why. Why is the storm here? Why must we all die? I’ve long ago given up hope that the rain will stop. My only prayer now is that I be asleep when it finally happens. Every time I lay my head down I pray that I am with my Martha again when I open my eyes. But, alas, I always rise to see the dark gray clouds spitting vicious waves upon me.”

“I’m so cold. I am so cold I can barely speak anymore. There’s no way to be dry any longer. And the wind. I am just so cold. The water is almost at the bed now. Not much longer. I suppose that I will just lay my head back down. Martha, my love, I will see you when I wake.”