by Barbara Latta @barbaralatta
No rain for three years.
The woman looked out the door at the cloudless sky and back
at the hard, dry ground. No one could remember the last time a stalk of wheat had
grown out of the soil. A spear of hopelessness stabbed her soul. She wasn’t so
concerned about herself, but she didn’t want to watch her child die of
starvation. Her husband perished, now so did the food.
How could she trust God’s faithfulness? Her emotions were as dry as the ground outside.
