Human Barometer


I can predict the future.

Sort of.

Half a day before a thunderstorm hits outside, it hits in my head.

I’ll feel like someone’s blowing up a balloon inside my skull.  My ears will hurt.  I’ll have trouble thinking straight.

It has something to do with the change in pressure, I’m sure.

It’s mostly a pain in the neck–literally–but someday I’ll put my predicting ability to good use.

Maybe I’ll get all those symptoms on a day when there’s no rain in the forecast, and I’ll stand up in the middle of town and declare, “There’s a surprise storm coming!”

Would anyone believe me?  I don’t know.  They might even laugh.

I wonder:  Is that how Jeremiah felt?  Or Isaiah?

Somehow they had a sense of the storm that was coming to their land.

That knowledge was probably painful enough to bear, but then they had to endure rejection, disbelief, and hostility when they opened their mouths to share it.

All the more reason that the prophets of old deserve our profound thanks and respect.  They read the signs, and listened to God, and spoke an unpopular Truth to God’s people, all out of their deep faithfulness.

It takes faith to listen to a prophet.  It takes even greater faith to be one.

There are prophets today too, you know:  Activists, spiritual leaders, scientists, wise ones, even weather forecasters (occasionally).

There are people out there who are willing to speak up and speak out about the storms that threaten.

To predict the future, even, for those who will listen.

Well, thank God for them.

As for me, being a human barometer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I’m gonna take some sinus medication,

and turn on the Weather Channel.


Have a great week,



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